Relieved
by Mia Cooper
Summary: AU: JC, JP, KT. Sequel to Pressure. A chance to get home compromises the crew's ethics. In the wake of events, Captain Chakotay reexamines a few of his own ethical choices ...
1. -part one-

Relieved By Mia Cooper cyanideblue@juicylime.net  
  
  
  
Summary  
  
A chance to get home compromises the crew's ethics. In the wake of events, Captain Chakotay re-examines a few of his own ethical choices .  
  
Playing Catch-up? This story is part of a parallel universe series, and a sequel to Pressure. It will make more sense if you read that story first, but if you'd rather get straight into it, here's a recap of the story so far:  
  
Captain Chakotay's Starfleet crew and Kathryn Janeway's Maquis have merged into one crew aboard the Federation starship Voyager, stranded 70,000 light years from their homes. Tensions are high as the two sides attempt to work together and come to terms with their situation. And the Captain and First Officer have their own problems to deal with - not least of which is their own long-standing and murky relationship. After some major battles of the wills, they've come to a state of truce . but that truce is about to be tested.  
  
Codes J/C, J/P, K/T, VOY crew, the odd TNG and DS9 cameo, and a few original characters  
  
Disclaimer Paramount offered me a box of assorted chocolates. I picked out the ones I like and left the rest. As always, Paramount are welcome to keep the calories.  
  
Rated [R].  
  
  
  
August, 2371 - today -  
  
For forty-seven days, Chakotay had held his breath as the delicate truce continued. On the forty-eighth day, they made contact with the Sikarians.  
  
It was a dream come true. Shore leave on a beautiful planet, all the exotic fruits and wines they could consume, myriad pleasures at their fingertips; and all the Sikarians wanted in return was the company of Voyager's crew. At least, for as long as Voyager's crew was suitably entertaining.  
  
The crew lost its entertainment value at the same time, and for the same reason, as the truce between the captain and first officer collapsed. The unctuous Sikarian First Minister, Gathorel Labin, had ordered Voyager to leave orbit immediately, and Chakotay's wayward crew had scurried away from Sikaris like misbehaving children avoiding a parent's punishment.  
  
Chakotay's teeth ground involuntarily. His crew's "misbehaviour" had broken the laws of an alien culture, restricted two of his senior officers to quarters and almost destroyed the ship. The dark cloud of the past days' events did have a silver lining, but shore leave had still turned sour in retrospect.  
  
  
  
August, 2371 - three days ago -  
  
"Deck one." Chakotay turned to the turbolift's other occupant. "Good morning, Commander."  
  
Janeway glanced up from her PADD, favouring him with a small smile. "Captain."  
  
"Did you enjoy the dinner last night?"  
  
"It was . an experience." Abandoning the PADD, she leaned against the turbolift wall and watched him with straight face and dancing eyes. "You certainly seemed to be enjoying all the attention."  
  
Chakotay looked away and ran a finger inside his collar. "Uh, attention?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Captain. You can't tell me you didn't love having the Sikarians eating from the palm of your hand. The storytelling captain of the starship Voyager." The lift swished to a halt and she stepped out onto the bridge. "Besides," she continued over her shoulder, dropping her voice so that only he could hear, "who would've thought all those ancient legends of your people could be turned to such diplomatic advantage?"  
  
Chakotay smothered a laugh as he followed her onto the bridge. "Well, it's your turn to play the diplomat tonight, Commander. I've got a hot date with Boothby on Holodeck 2 and I don't intend to stand him up, so you'll be the senior representative at tonight's ceremonial meal."  
  
Tom Paris, overhearing, looked up from the helm and groaned. "You mean we have to sit through another of those interminable bullshitting sessions?"  
  
"The proper term is 'storytelling', Mr Paris, and no," Chakotay raised an eyebrow at him, "you don't have to go. The waste extraction conduits could use a spring-clean."  
  
"I love a good story," Paris said hastily, turning back to the helm.  
  
Chakotay grinned as he headed for his ready room. "You have the bridge, Commander."  
  
=/\=  
  
Kathryn Janeway was bored.  
  
Gathorel Labin had apparently been building to the climax of his tale for near on forty minutes now. The story hadn't been particularly interesting to begin with - something about a lengthy feud between two cousins, precipitated by a dispute over the ownership of a family legend. The intricacies of the Sikarian legal system and its application to the distribution rights of stories, of all things, were, frankly, beyond her; besides, her ingrained belief in the freedom of speech ensured she'd probably never understand it. And her irritation was exacerbated by Gathorel's habit of punctuating his speech by stroking her knee. One more oily little fingerprint, and she'd .  
  
"Commander!"  
  
Gathorel's fingertips slid off her knee as Janeway turned in relief. "What is it, Ensign?"  
  
Harry Kim was almost trembling with excitement. In contrast, the Sikarian girl with him hung back, her brow creased in distress. Kim dragged the girl forward. "Commander, the Sikarians have a technology which enables them to transport immense distances in the blink of an eye. I was just on a planet forty thousand light years away." He paused to watch Janeway's eyes widen as it sank in. She turned to Gathorel.  
  
Before she could speak, the Sikarian girl cut in. "I'm sorry, First Minister. I told him ..."  
  
"It's all right, Eudana." Gathorel waggled his fingers at her and she lowered her gaze. Completely ignoring Kim, the First Minister smiled at Janeway again. "Now, Commander, where were we? Ah yes, I was telling you what Norimo did when -"  
  
"First Minister." Janeway laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, but could we continue this story later? I'm very eager to hear about this transporter technology of yours."  
  
"Of course." His smile didn't reach anywhere near his eyes. "We call it a spatial trajector. Your crewman was correct; it does allow us to transport vast distances. Its maximum range is fifty thousand light years."  
  
"How does it work?"  
  
"It works on a folding space principle. However, I'm afraid I'm not a scientist. I couldn't fully explain it to you."  
  
"But I am a scientist," she replied. "Would it be possible to examine this technology? I'd like to have Ensign Kim and our chief engineer take a look at it as well."  
  
Again, Gathorel smiled emptily. "I'm very sorry, Commander, but I couldn't allow you to examine it. Our laws prohibit us from sharing technology with other species. You have no idea of the dangers some technology could present in the wrong hands. We couldn't take the chance. You understand, of course."  
  
"But we'd only be using it to get home."  
  
Gathorel shook his head. "I'm afraid our laws are quite clear."  
  
Slowly, the light died from Janeway's eyes as she sat back, pulling her hand from Gathorel's arm. "I see," she said quietly.  
  
"But sir -" Ensign Kim tried to speak but she cut him off with a sharp glare. "Ensign, transport back to the ship. Now, please."  
  
He nodded and tapped his commbadge. "Kim to Voyager. One to beam up."  
  
Janeway looked at Gathorel. "I think it would be best if I returned to Voyager as well."  
  
"Already?" He was pouting; to Janeway he looked more reptilian than ever.  
  
"I'm afraid so. It's very late, and I'm on early shift tomorrow." She stood. "Janeway to Voyager. Energise."  
  
=/\=  
  
"Why the long face, Harry?"  
  
Kim poked apathetically at his breakfast as Torres settled into the chair opposite. "The Sikarians."  
  
She groaned. "Don't tell me we have to spend another night listening to their damn stories."  
  
"It's not that." He sighed. "I spent last night with Eudana - you know, the pretty brunette?"  
  
"Eudana?" Torres' fork stilled. "You spent the night with her? Fast work, Harry."  
  
Her voice was tight; he looked up in surprise. Torres' mouth was compressed, her dark eyes shuttered. If he hadn't known her better, he'd have sworn she was ... jealous? His mood lifted a little; he was about to assure her that she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion, but some sixth sense warned him to play it cool. He leaned back in his chair, watching her expression. "I was telling her about the Caretaker," he said carefully, "and she wanted to hear the story in a ... private setting."  
  
Torres stabbed at her plate.  
  
"So," he continued, gratified, "we stepped onto a transporter pad and suddenly we were in this lush forest. It was dark, and the sun was just starting to rise, and -" He stopped. Telling B'Elanna about the stimulating erosene winds might be taking it a little too far. She didn't need to know how his skin had tingled, how he'd felt the rush of blood in his veins, how he'd reached for Eudana, wanting to touch her, wanting ...  
  
Torres was watching him.  
  
"Uh, anyway," he went on hastily, "it was sunrise. And it had been evening in the market square, so I asked where we were, and she said this place was called Alastria." He leaned forward. "B'Elanna, we were on another planet. A planet forty thousand light years away."  
  
Torres' fork dropped to the table with a clatter.  
  
"So I jumped straight back on the transporter pad and insisted Eudana take me to see the First Minister. But he refused to let us use the technology. Even Commander Janeway couldn't change his mind." Harry slumped back in his seat again. "Damn it all to hell."  
  
"Janeway knows about this?" Torres said thoughtfully. "So what's her plan?"  
  
Kim looked blank.  
  
"Come on, Harry, you don't think she'll just leave it at that, do you? A polite 'no' from that Sikarian weasel and she just lets it go? Not a chance."  
  
"But the Sikarians have a Prime Directive just like ours," Kim said. "We can't disrespect their laws."  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "The vaunted Prime Directive. Never stopped her before."  
  
"That was when she was a Maquis," Kim pointed out. "It's different now. She's Starfleet again."  
  
Torres looked at him darkly. "She wears the uniform, Harry. But underneath it, she'll always be Maquis. You'll see."  
  
=/\=  
  
"And it was a definite, unequivocal no?"  
  
Janeway nodded, watching with a twinge of sympathy as the captain pinched the bridge of his nose again. She and Harry Kim had just related their discovery of the night before to the senior staff, and all around the table she saw slumped shoulders and eyes downcast in defeat.  
  
Chakotay rested the palms of his hands against the table. First that time- shifted wormhole, and now this. Slap bang up against a law like the Federation's own. For the first time, he really understood how the other side felt.  
  
"I guess that's that, then," Kim said dejectedly, and Tom Paris sighed in agreement.  
  
"Wait a minute," Janeway retorted. "Gathorel said no to our first request, but we weren't offering him anything in exchange. There must be something we have that he'd be willing to trade for."  
  
Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Got anything in mind, Commander?"  
  
She bit her lip, thinking. "I don't know. Dilithium? Some kind of technology trade?"  
  
Torres was shaking her head. "I scanned the planet when we arrived. There's a rich source of dilithium on the western continent, and all indications are that their technology is superior to ours. And they have holographic systems and bio-neural circuitry installed in their ships and some of the buildings. Off-hand, I can't think of anything we have that they might want."  
  
Silence.  
  
Kim sat bolt upright. "Stories," he blurted.  
  
"Ensign?"  
  
He turned to face the captain, eyes alive with new excitement. "You know how they've been so interested in hearing about our travels, our history, our experiences? It's not just idle curiosity. Eudana told me last night that their stock trade is stories, tales, legends ... whatever you want to call them. They even have laws governing the rights to, and dissemination of, stories." He paused. "What about if we offer them Voyager's historical and literary database in exchange for the use of the spatial trajector?"  
  
"He's right," Janeway said slowly. "It could work."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "I'll discuss it with the First Minister. Dismissed."  
  
Janeway hung back as the others made their way out of the briefing room, the despondent mood of moments before replaced by eager chatter. She turned to Chakotay as the door slid closed. "Permission to make the offer to First Minister Gathorel, sir?"  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "I'll do it, Commander. It should come from the captain of the ship."  
  
"Perhaps," she answered, "but, with all due respect, I think it would come better from me."  
  
He stopped collecting his PADDs and looked up. "Why?"  
  
"Because he -" Damn, was she blushing? Janeway collected herself. "Gathorel seems to have taken a liking to me. He might be more easily persuaded if I -" She stopped.  
  
"If you - what?"  
  
He wasn't going to let her off the hook. Trying not to squirm, she replied, "If I charm him a little, Captain."  
  
"I see." He picked up the last of his PADDs and turned to face her. His dark eyes were cool and his tone devoid of inflection. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of Starfleet protocols and regulations when dealing with alien species, Commander. I trust you won't do anything ... untoward."  
  
She barely restrained herself from glaring at him. "I'll be the model of Starfleet propriety. Sir."  
  
He nodded. "Permission granted, then. Report back to me as soon as you have Gathorel's answer." He didn't even look at her as he strode from the briefing room.  
  
Janeway's face burned.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Ener -"  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Ensign Martin's hand froze above the controls as Tom Paris flung himself through the doors and onto the tranporter pad. "I'm coming with you."  
  
Janeway folded her arms. "Lieutenant, your presence is not required."  
  
"I'm sure it isn't, Commander, but I'd feel better if you had backup." He stood at rigid attention, gaze fixed somewhere on the wall above Martin's head.  
  
She couldn't help a twitch of amusement. "Mr Paris, I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need backup. I'm not walking into a firefight."  
  
"Starfleet Regulation 9B, sub-section 8, paragraph C specifically states that all away teams must consist of two crewmembers. Minimum."  
  
Ensign Martin appeared entranced, head moving back and forth as though at a tennis match.  
  
"That same regulation also states that one of those crew members must be a security officer. Are you planning a new career path, Lieutenant? I'd be happy to discuss the matter with Lieutenant Tuvok when I return."  
  
Paris finally turned to face her. "I like my job just fine, Commander. I don't like Gathorel."  
  
Janeway's face darkened and she grabbed his arm above the elbow, hustling him into a corner. Voice low, she demanded, "What's your point, Lieutenant?"  
  
"I don't trust him." He spoke forcefully, head lowered to hers. At the controls, Ensign Martin strained to listen, catching brief pieces of their conversation. "... don't think he's serious ... won't let us ... Harry said ..."  
  
"... care what Ensign Kim said ... I can ..."  
  
"... know you can be persuasive, but ... careful ... something about him I ..."  
  
"Lieutenant, I don't need protection from ..."  
  
"I know ... give you ... privacy while you're ... just let me ... nearby. Please."  
  
Martin watched Janeway's hand fall as she stepped back, searching the lieutenant's face. "All right," she sighed. "Just - stay out of my way." She moved back onto the pad. "Ensign Martin, two to transport. Energise."  
  
Martin watched, goggle-eyed, as the pair faded in blue patterns of light.  
  
Moments later, Janeway readjusted to their new surroundings. The marketplace was almost exactly as she'd left it last. Sikarian citizens cooed over fabrics, tasted delicacies and licked their fingers, sprawled langorously on plush banquettes. What a bunch of hedonistic parasites. She brushed the thought away impatiently and addressed the nearest Sikarian, a plump woman in what looked like a sari spun from candy floss.  
  
"I'm Commander Janeway from Voyager. May I see the First Minister?"  
  
The woman dipped her head and led them to the open banquet hall they'd dined in the night before. Gathorel reclined at the head of the dish-laden table, eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, flanked by two simpering, barely-clad girls. "Commander Janeway," he declared as she entered the hall. "And - Ensign Paris, isn't it?"  
  
"Lieutenant," corrected the man in question, no inflection in his tone.  
  
"Of course. My apologies." Paris thought Gathorel could hardly sound less sincere if he'd tried. "This is an unexpected pleasure."  
  
And you do so love your pleasures. Paris clamped down on his reaction as Janeway stepped forward.  
  
"First Minister, I was hoping we could talk."  
  
"Of course." Gathorel's hand slid along the thigh of one of the Sikarian girls. "My dears, could you excuse us?" He glanced over at Paris. "Perhaps you could entertain Lieutenant Paris while the commander and I" - he paused briefly - "talk."  
  
Paris found himself urged gently to the far end of the sheltered hall, Sikarian arms about his waist. He lowered himself onto a fat velvet sofa. The two girls curled up either side of him. "I'm Nitara," the dark one told him, running a finger down the side of his face, and the redhead slid a hand along his arm, "and I'm Sarucha."  
  
"Tom," he said absentmindedly, craning to get a view of Janeway and the First Minister. Gathorel seemed to be stroking her arm.  
  
"Tom." They repeated his name in unison, caressing it vocally as they caressed him physically. Sarucha leaned in close, blocking his view, as Nitara plucked a piece of fruit from the low table beside the sofa. "Tom, you must try this angua. It's delightful."  
  
"No thanks."  
  
"Perhaps you'd prefer something savoury?"  
  
"No, really, I'm fine."  
  
"Then what can we do for you?"  
  
For the first time he really looked at them: flushed, pretty faces, smooth brown skin, pale fluttering garments. "Uh. what exactly do you mean?"  
  
"It would give us pleasure," Sarucha responded, "to give you pleasure."  
  
"Oh." He recovered quickly. "Thanks, but I'm just here with Commander Janeway."  
  
"But she's with Gathorel," Nitara purred.  
  
"Yeah, but it's not what you think -" He couldn't see Janeway; he ducked out of Sarucha's reach. She twined back around him like a creeping vine. "Ladies, please," he joked.  
  
At the other end of the hall Janeway was gritting her teeth as Gathorel clasped her hands in his. "Now, tell me. What brings you here to see me?"  
  
"I'd like to make a suggestion," she extricated herself as politely as she could, "which would be of great benefit to both of us."  
  
Gathorel stroked her arm. "Indeed?"  
  
"Yes." She steeled herself. "It could bring you many, many hours of pleasure."  
  
"Mmm." Now he was stroking her face. "I like the sound of it already, Kathryn - may I call you Kathryn?"  
  
No, you may not. "First Minister -"  
  
"Gathorel," he corrected.  
  
"Right. It's about your spatial trajector."  
  
For the first time in their acquaintance Gathorel stopped touching her of his own accord, sat back, and waited. His eyes were hard. In an instant, Janeway revised her assessment of him. He wasn't just some pleasure-seeking marshmallow. Tom Paris was right - this was a man with an agenda.  
  
Perhaps she could disarm him with a taste of his own medicine. Swallowing her distaste, she placed her hand upon his knee and favoured him with a seductive smile. "I've noticed," she purred, "how you've enjoyed the stories of our travels through this quadrant, and how we came to be here in the first place. What I'm offering," and now she captured his hands in hers, leaning in toward him, "is a hundred thousand more. I'm offering the literary works of the finest storytellers the Federation has to offer, all from our ship's library. Thousands of stories of honour and adventure and romance and heroism, all for you and your people's pleasure. And all we ask in return is your help in shortening our journey home."  
  
"You want to use the trajector in return for giving us these stories."  
  
"That's right." Janeway kept the smile on her lips as she linked her fingers into his. A little closer, give him something to think about. She brushed her knee against his leg. "What do you think, Gathorel?"  
  
"An intriguing offer," he replied, smiling back at her, curling his fingers around her wrist. "I'd like to discuss it further. Perhaps we should retire to my chambers."  
  
Not on your life. "I'm sorry, I'm expected back on Voyager."  
  
He leaned back fractionally.  
  
The trajector. Focus on the trajector. She made herself edge even closer; she could feel his breath on her cheek. "But I'll see you at dinner tonight, I hope."  
  
"It would be a pleasure."  
  
"And in the meantime, perhaps you could consider my offer."  
  
Again his hand reached up, and again she felt his palm against her face. "I will have to discuss it with the body of ministers. Nobody has ever made a request like this before."  
  
"Do you think they'll agree?" Stupid, Kathryn, stupid! She held her breath.  
  
Gathorel's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps."  
  
His palm was moist against her cheek, but she made herself turn slightly into it. "I hope they do. We - I - would be very grateful."  
  
God, she felt unclean.  
  
Across the room, Tom Paris batted the brunette's hand away. "Sarucha, I think you've got the wrong idea -"  
  
"I'm Nitara," she pouted, displeasure crossing her blandly pretty face.  
  
"Sorry." He pulled away and caught a glimpse of the other end of the table. Janeway was practically sitting in Gathorel's lap, his hand cupping her cheek. He couldn't see for certain, but it looked like she was stroking his thigh. Paris leapt to his feet, dislodging Nitara from her perch on his knee and knocking Sarucha sideways. They mewed in protest. "Sorry," he said again. "Got to go."  
  
He stomped toward the other pair, clearing his throat loudly to warn them. He expected Janeway to jump away from the Sikarian, but she simply turned annoyed blue eyes toward him. "Commander," he said coolly, "it's almost 1300 hours."  
  
As though reluctant, she pulled slowly away from the First Minister. "I'm afraid we have to return to the ship." She stood and smiled down at him. "See you tonight, Gathorel." Her voice grew even huskier than usual as she spoke his name.  
  
Paris turned and stalked toward the market square, not checking she was following. She caught up to him as they approached the transport coordinates. "Thanks," she said brusquely.  
  
He turned a cold gaze toward her. "For what?"  
  
She shrugged. "For providing backup."  
  
"Didn't seem like you needed it after all."  
  
"Hey." She snatched at his arm. "That wasn't what you think -"  
  
Paris stopped. "Really, Commander? What do I think?"  
  
The sun was in her eyes; she had to squint to see his face. "You think that I - that we -" She trailed off. Not like you to be tongue-tied, Kathryn, she chided herself.  
  
His voice was still neutral. "It's not my place to think anything, Commander." You've made that abundantly clear.  
  
Janeway was starting to get angry. "Lieutenant, there are times when you have to put up with certain ... things ... to achieve an important goal. Remember that, and - and refrain from passing judgment on my methods."  
  
"Of course, Commander." He moved, blocking the sun, and she could see his face now; it was expressionless, the perfect Starfleet mask. "Shall I call for transport, Commander?"  
  
She hissed, turning away, and tapped her own commbadge. "Janeway to Voyager. Beam us the hell out of here."  
  
=/\=  
  
"So he didn't agree to the trade."  
  
"Not exactly." She felt like a child being called on the carpet. Chakotay hadn't even suggested she sit down; she stood before his desk, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind her back. "He said he'd discuss it with the other ministers, but I suspect the final answer will be no."  
  
He couldn't resist. "It seems you may have overestimated your charms, Commander - or at least their effect on the good First Minister."  
  
Janeway opened her mouth to snap at him and collected herself just in time. "It seems so," she said coldly.  
  
"Was there any indication that he expected the offer to come from your superior officer?"  
  
Screw you, Chakotay, she thought furiously. "Somehow I don't think you're his type, sir."  
  
He looked at her sharply. "Perhaps you over-used your charms as well as overestimating them."  
  
Her fists clenched. "Exactly what are you implying?"  
  
Chakotay stood to face her. Those dark eyes weren't opaque anymore; they burned. "I'm not implying anything, Commander. But I would like to hear -" He stopped, suddenly, and with obvious effort; she saw the muscles in his jaw working. When he looked back at her he was calmer. "I apologise, Commander. That was out of line."  
  
She nodded shortly, cheeks flaming. "Am I dismissed?"  
  
"Of course." He watched her turn on her heel and stalk back to the bridge.  
  
Chakotay sank back into his chair, exhaling. This was a delicate truce, indeed. And if he didn't get a handle on this ridiculous jealousy and start behaving as a starship captain should, he'd have nobody to blame but himself for wrecking his relationship with his first officer.  
  
He sighed. It wasn't just his unfounded and intrusive suspicions regarding that slimy Sikarian, or even his suspicions - not so unfounded, perhaps - about Lieutenant Paris. Another way home lost, the crew's spirit dashed. His own hopes squashed.  
  
He pulled the desktop monitor toward him and sent his senior staff yet another meeting request.  
  
=/\=  
  
Ensign Kim materialised in the deserted market square at siesta hour.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
He turned in the direction of the whisper; Eudana was half-concealed behind a pillar, beckoning to him. Looking around, he made his way over to her. "Why all the cloak and dagger?"  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Never mind," he grinned. "Why did you call me here?"  
  
"Come on." She took his hand. "I want you to meet a friend of mine."  
  
The man hovering nervously in a secluded corner of the market square was short and rabbity. "This is Jaret Otel," whispered Eudana. "He's the assistant to the First Minister."  
  
Kim nodded a greeting, sending Eudana a questioning glance. Otel leaned closer. "Ensign Kim, thank you for coming. I have a proposition for you." He placed an object in Kim's hand. "This is the matrix of our spatial trajector."  
  
Kim stared. "Are you giving this to me?"  
  
"Not exactly." Jaret Otel spoke quickly. "I'm offering it to you in exchange for your ship's library."  
  
"Does the First Minister approve of this?"  
  
"He doesn't know," Eudana broke in. "If you make the exchange, you make it with Jaret."  
  
"If this isn't official, I can't accept -"  
  
"Gathorel never had any intention of giving you the technology," Otel interrupted. "He hasn't said no because it might create an unpleasant situation. Believe me, your only chance of keeping this matrix is if you'll make the trade with me."  
  
Kim weighed the piece of equipment thoughtfully. "I'm guessing you'd stand to benefit from this arrangement?"  
  
Otel dipped his head quickly. "Your library contains many stories. New stories, ones we haven't heard before. I want to be the one to bring them to our people."  
  
"I see." Kim handed back the matrix. "I can't make this decision on behalf of my shipmates. I'll have to discuss it with my captain."  
  
Jaret Otel nodded. "I understand. I hope he'll see that this trade will benefit both of us."  
  
=/\=  
  
"You mean this Jaret Otel person is willing to give us the spatial trajector behind the First Minister's back?"  
  
"Shh," Kim hissed, making dampening motions with downturned palms. He glanced around the mess hall. Kyoto and Larson huddled in a far corner, heads together, she offering him bites from her plate. Portia Lang was engrossed in a story Megan Delaney was telling. O'Donnell and Tabor were sulking their way through mess hall duty. Nobody was interested in the trio at Kim's table.  
  
"Okay, okay. Let me think." Torres chewed her lip, sinking back into her chair with a frown. Beside her, Paris' face was expressionless as he forked patterns in his quampi casserole.  
  
"Have you told anyone else?" Torres asked finally.  
  
Kim shook his head. "I'll have to take it to the captain."  
  
"What if he says no? It wouldn't fit with Starfleet principles to make the exchange without the sanction of the official government." There was no denying the resentment in her voice.  
  
"Maybe not," Kim said deliberately, "but it's not our decision to make, B'Elanna. I have to tell him."  
  
"Starfleet principles." She growled. "If this was a Maquis ship ..."  
  
"But it's not," he said pointedly.  
  
"You don't need to remind me of that." She shot him a glare. "Do one thing for me, Harry. Make sure Janeway's there when you tell the captain, all right? This may be a Starfleet ship, but it might take a few Maquis suggestions to get us home. And if he's going to listen to any of the Maquis, he'll listen to her."  
  
Kim sighed. "What do you think, Tom?"  
  
Paris looked up, poker-faced. He shrugged. "Should I have an opinion?"  
  
"Well, yeah," snorted Torres. "This could mean we get home tomorrow."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Such enthusiasm," said Torres sarcastically. "Anyone would think you wanted to be stuck in the Delta quadrant forever."  
  
Paris placed his knife and fork either side of his barely-touched meal. "Seems like as good a place as any other."  
  
"From a criminal's perspective, maybe," retorted Torres. "Come to think of it, you must be loving it on Voyager. You get to fly a state-of-the-art starship, your father's nowhere to be seen, and thanks to Janeway, you don't even get beat up anymore."  
  
Tom Paris stood and stalked away without a word.  
  
"B'Elanna, that was cruel," Kim said quietly.  
  
"What?" she said defensively, ashamed of her words the moment they'd left her mouth, and masking it with aggression. "If he can't handle the truth ."  
  
"Excuse me." Kim gave her a look of displeasure as he pushed his chair away from the table. "I have to go talk to the captain."  
  
=/\=  
  
"We have an opportunity here," Janeway stated as soon as the ready room door had closed behind Harry Kim. "And you're going to turn it down. Aren't you?"  
  
Chakotay looked tired, she noticed as he went to the replicator. "One Vulcan spice tea, one black coffee." He handed her the coffee cup. "Sit down, Kate."  
  
Unwillingly, she sat opposite him on the sofa. He was gazing out the viewport at Sikaris. She waited while he sipped his tea.  
  
"What this Jaret Otel is suggesting goes against the principles of Starfleet," he said finally, "as well as my personal ethics. I can't accept this offer."  
  
"In other words, you're going to let your personal ethics dictate how long this crew spends meandering through the Delta quadrant."  
  
He looked at her sharply. "Just like I let my personal ethics sentence this crew to a lifetime away from home in the first place? Is that what you were going to say?"  
  
"No." She breathed deeply. "I agreed with your decision to destroy the Caretaker's array. But what's at stake here, Chakotay? There's no helpless alien race like the Ocampa to save this time. Who would be hurt by our accepting this offer?"  
  
"We would be hurt by it, Kate. I said at the beginning of this journey that we'd follow Starfleet principles on this ship. I knew it wasn't going to be easy - hell, you know that better than anyone. And it's just now starting to fall into place. We haven't compromised that ideal in the past eight months. What kind of an example would I be setting if I agreed to this? What kind of a captain would I be?"  
  
"You'd be a captain who gets his crew home," she said forcefully. "Isn't that worth a few sleepless nights worrying about ethics? Haven't you ever made an ethically questionable decision for the good of your crew, or the good of the Federation, and had to live with the consequences? Isn't it worth it?"  
  
He looked like she'd stunned him with a phaser. "Actually, I have," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "And I'm still not sure if it was worth it."  
  
Curiosity spiked, she wanted to ask him what he meant. But the issue at hand was more important. "Whether you think it was worth it or not," she insisted, "this crew would be happy to live with the consequences if it gets us back to the Alpha quadrant."  
  
"Maybe," he answered. "But I can't go against the principles I've spent a lifetime defending for the convenience of this crew. And this is my decision to make."  
  
"So you're going to turn it down." It wasn't a question.  
  
"I have to turn it down," he said quietly. "You know that as well as I do."  
  
She looked at him carefully. "Yes, I suppose I do." She stood, placing her cup on the coffee table. "Good night, Captain."  
  
  
  
August, 2371 - today -  
  
Haven't you ever made an ethically questionable decision for the good of your crew, or the good of the Federation, and had to live with the consequences?  
  
Chakotay pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and groaned. Janeway had hit the bull's-eye with that question; for a split second he'd even panicked that she knew exactly what decision he'd made, exactly what consequences he was now living with. She couldn't know, of course. Nobody could, and that was a consequence in itself.  
  
It was her question, he told himself, which had prevented him from even suspecting what she was planning. When she'd left his ready room two days ago, when he'd told her he wasn't going to accept Jaret Otel's offer of the spatial trajector, he should have known she wouldn't simply accept it. But she had asked him a question, one he'd been asking himself for a long time - and suddenly that question was the only thing on his mind.  
  
She had told him this morning that she'd done it because she knew he couldn't. That she'd taken it upon herself because she'd compromised her ethics before and knew she could live with the consequences. That she suspected he couldn't. And that one day, perhaps, he'd understand.  
  
He understood all too well. 


	2. -part two-

August, 2368 - three years ago -  
  
Eight months in, and Starfleet's best engineers were busy with construction on the two prototypes. Commander Chakotay strolled to the viewing port and couldn't help grinning. The sleek white lines of the NX-74206, stark against the terraformed backdrop of Mars, never failed to lift his spirits. And with the problems the NX-74205 had been having, he was bound to win that bet.  
  
"Not dreaming of collecting your winnings, are you?"  
  
Chakotay turned, his grin widening. "Absolutely," he declared. "I can taste that bottle of 2251 Saurian brandy already. Unless you're thinking of welching, that is."  
  
"Shut your mouth," Sisko returned affably, "unless you want me to shut it for you."  
  
"Oh, a challenge?" Chakotay put up his fists in a boxer's stance. "Think you can take me?"  
  
Sisko mirrored him and took a mock jab at the other man's chin. "Anytime, anywhere, Chief, you just say the word ..."  
  
Chakotay laughed and dropped his hands. "So tell me, is there a reason you're visiting the dark side, or are you just here to spy?"  
  
Commander Sisko shook his head. "We're due for a briefing in ten minutes, or were you so busy filling your imaginary glass that you lost track of time?"  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Chakotay slapped his colleague on the back as they headed toward the briefing room. Their easy camaraderie had been somewhat unexpected, given that each of them was in charge of the development of a new ship designed specifically to counter the Borg threat - the same threat which had caused the death of Sisko's wife at the battle of Wolf 359, eighteen months ago now. The NX-74205 had actually begun construction a few months prior to the 206, but with the recent discovery that the weight of its multitude of weaponry was severely overtaxing the 205's structural integrity field, particularly at high warp, the expected completion date of both prototypes was now neck-and-neck. Pressure from the 'fleet's upper echelons was intense and could easily have led to frayed nerves and flaring tempers between the two project heads, but from the day Commander Chakotay had been brought in to head up the design and construction of the 206, he and Benjamin Sisko, his counterpart on the 205, had struck up a friendly rivalry.  
  
"So which admiral is it this time?"  
  
"Owen Paris," replied Sisko. "So don't go shooting your mouth off. He doesn't suffer fools gladly."  
  
Chakotay smirked. "Ben, there's nothing you can tell me about Paris that I don't already know. He was my first commanding officer, back on the Al- Batani. You're right though," he grinned, "he doesn't impress easily. You've got your work cut out for you."  
  
They were still laughing as they strode into the briefing room and stopped dead, smiles fading. The room was silent. Every single seat around the oversized conference table was taken. Every single seat was occupied by an officer of captain's rank or above. And every single face was turned toward the two lowly commanders. Chakotay shifted his feet. Ben Sisko cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"Glad to see you two getting along so well," came an amused voice. Chakotay turned. Admiral Owen Paris stood at the head of the room; his aide (another captain, Chakotay noticed dismally) was shuffling through a huge stack of PADDs balanced on a chair. Another man - neat, mousy, non-descript - sat quietly in the shadow of the corner. With a flicker of curiosity, Chakotay noticed that this man was the only one in the room not wearing a Starfleet uniform.  
  
He made himself speak. "Admiral - uh, Admirals, Captains, sorry we're late."  
  
"You're not," retorted Paris, stepping forward with outstretched hand and gripping Chakotay's hand firmly. "Good to see you again, son. And you must be Commander Sisko."  
  
"Nice to meet you, sir." Sisko shook the greying admiral's hand.  
  
"I doubt it," Paris barked, and then laughed. "Relax, both of you. Go on, sit down."  
  
Sisko and Chakotay located a couple of spare chairs and pulled them up to the table.  
  
"So," Admiral Paris said. "Now that we're all here, ladies and gentlemen, let me give you a quick overview. The NX-74205 and NX-74206 are experimental ships with extreme defensive capabilities, built for one purpose - to neutralise the Borg threat, should we be unlucky enough to encounter them again." He glanced briefly at Sisko's bowed head. "I'm sure nobody here relishes that possibility, but if it does happen, we want to be ready."  
  
Paris nodded to his aide, who brought up a schematic of the 205 on the huge screen at the head of the table. "Behold Starfleet's great white hope. This prototype is equipped with four Class I rapid-fire phaser pulse cannons, a Type X phaser bank with a total output of 70,000 terawatts, three pulse- fire torpedo tubes with an armament of sixty quantum and forty photon torpedoes, and our pride and joy: ablative hull armour." He gestured to the image on screen. "Unfortunately, the ship is a little undersized for the heavy-duty weaponry she's carrying, and there's too much strain on the structural integrity field. Preliminary simulations indicate that at high warp with weapons firing, she could literally tear herself apart." Suddenly he grinned. "But what's life without taking a few chances, eh?"  
  
A Bolian admiral was shifting uncomfortably. "I assume steps are being taken to correct the problem?"  
  
"Commander Sisko has the issue in hand. Meanwhile," Paris looked to his aide again, who flipped the screen image to the 206's schematic, "we also have this little gem on her way to the production line. She has similar armaments to the NX-74205, though we've reduced the total weaponry by almost half. She's also slightly smaller with a more streamlined design which increases maneuverability. And the use of regenerative shielding, rather than ablative hull armour, means she's not overweight for her size. We're still aiming for a production date of early next year for both ships. And, gentlemen," he turned to Sisko and Chakotay, "you'll both be pleased to know that Starfleet has designated class names for each of your ships. The NX-74205 will henceforth be known as the USS Defiant, and the NX-74206, the USS Liberty."  
  
=/\=  
  
"Commander Chakotay."  
  
The voice was cool, cultured. Chakotay turned and found himself standing before the only person in the room who was apparently not a Starfleet officer.  
  
The man was already speaking. "I'm very impressed with your progress on the NX-74206 - pardon me. The USS Liberty." He favoured Chakotay with a small smile. "Her design is quite excellent. I'm particularly interested in this regenerative shield grid. Do you have any statistics on its capacity to absorb Borg weapons fire?"  
  
"Nothing concrete as yet. We've run a few simulations to determine how long it might take the Borg to adapt to the shield modulations, but there's still a lot of work to be done."  
  
"I see. And the quantum torpedoes - are they performing to spec? I understand there have been some concerns about their stability."  
  
"I'm afraid that's classified," Chakotay said politely. "I couldn't release that information without Admiral Paris' permission."  
  
"Of course," the man replied smoothly. He indicated that Chakotay should follow him to the refreshments table. "Commander, were you at Wolf 359?"  
  
"I was first officer on the USS Saber."  
  
"Ah. She was a good ship. Then you must have been one of the few who survived her destruction."  
  
"Eighty-four of us made it to the escape pods. The Borg destroyed all but three of the pods. There were sixteen survivors from a crew of one hundred and two." The stark facts could hardly do justice to the bleakness he still felt. Grief and survivor's guilt. He was hardly alone in that.  
  
The man sighed. "The Borg are a terrible enemy. I sometimes wonder if we - the Federation - have what it takes to defend ourselves against them."  
  
Chakotay said nothing. Where was this leading?  
  
"Commander," the man said as he twirled his glass of Betazoid miralla wine, "I wonder if you're aware of reports that the Romulans are developing a new class of torpedo." The man's eyes slanted up at him.  
  
Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware of that. But then I don't have top level security clearance."  
  
"No, of course not," the man said smoothly. "Still, it would be of interest to you, wouldn't it? If the Romulans are working on a weapon to counteract your new quantum torpedoes ."  
  
"Pardon me, sir, but it was my understanding that we designed the Defiant and the Liberty to deal with the Borg threat. Not the Romulans."  
  
"Of course," came the reply. "Nevertheless, the Romulans still present a significant threat to the Federation; wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Chakotay inclined his head.  
  
"And wouldn't you agree that it is imperative that the Federation identify potential threats, such as the Romulans developing a devastating new weapon?"  
  
Again Chakotay nodded, a little more warily this time.  
  
"And would you also agree that it is the duty of a Federation citizen, if he becomes aware of the existence of such a potential threat, to do all that he can to protect the security of the Federation?"  
  
Something warned Chakotay to choose his next words very carefully.  
  
"It's my understanding," he said slowly, "that threats to Federation security are identified and dealt with by Starfleet Intelligence."  
  
"Certainly," the neat man replied, "and a fine job they do of it too. Most of the time."  
  
Again, Chakotay waited.  
  
"Of course, Starfleet Intelligence does have its limits."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
The man tilted his glass so that the iridescent golden liquid caught the light. When he spoke again, his voice was mild enough that Chakotay almost missed the significance of his words.  
  
"It is, after all, bound by certain codes of conduct, which, while based on the noblest of ideals, do - shall we say - tie one's hands on occasion."  
  
Carefully, Chakotay set his glass on the table and met the man's eye. "Are you suggesting that there are occasions when the Starfleet codes of conduct should be . circumvented?"  
  
The man was smiling at him as though he'd passed some kind of test. "Very delicately put, Commander."  
  
Chakotay studied him more closely. His hair was short and tidy and an indeterminate colour somewhere between brown and blond. His features were regular, his height average, his weight average, his clothing plain black - his only distinguishing feature, in fact, was his rather pale blue eyes. Chakotay found himself wondering if he would even recognise the man if he saw him again; he was so . average . that he looked like anybody else.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be blunt, but - who are you?"  
  
"That's quite all right, Commander." The man held out his hand. "I'm here in a consultative capacity to advise Admiral Paris on tactical strategies. My name is Sloan."  
  
  
  
October, 2369 - twenty-two months ago -  
  
"Good morning, Captain."  
  
Chakotay smiled briefly at Lieutenant Ajuta as she scurried to catch up to him, spots glowing with the effort. "Has the new squadron arrived yet?" he asked her.  
  
"Just came in on the Carolina, sir. I hear they're a rowdy lot. A trio of ensigns cleaned out the Carolina's engineering staff in a poker game while drinking their entire stock of Risan synthehol." She grinned.  
  
Chakotay could always count on his Trill assistant to ferret out the more salacious snippets of information about any incoming group of trainees. "Shame it was synthehol," he teased. "I'd have enjoyed putting them through their paces with a hangover."  
  
Ajuta's smile was a little dimmer than usual. "Something wrong?" he asked her.  
  
Her spots flushed darkly. "There was a communique from Admiral Nechayev for you, sir." She hesitated. "I couldn't help but catch the first few lines. I'm afraid one of your former students has defected to the Maquis."  
  
"Don't tell me," Chakotay sighed. "Ro Laren." At Ajuta's nod, his mouth twisted grimly. "Well, I can't say I'm overly surprised."  
  
"No, sir." Ajuta still didn't seem her usual boisterous self.  
  
"Something else?"  
  
"There's a gentleman waiting to see you in your office. He wouldn't give his name, but he said the two of you were old acquaintances."  
  
"Understood." Chakotay motioned to Ajuta to precede him into the building. "I'll be in my office with my mystery guest."  
  
It took him barely a moment to place the man in black who occupied Chakotay's chair with an air of supreme comfort and self-certainty. He stopped short. Some sixth sense warned him to play it cool. "Mr Sloan," he said neutrally. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
"Captain Chakotay." The man stood and held out his hand as though he was this office's occupant and Chakotay the uninvited visitor. "Congratulations on your promotion."  
  
"Thank you." Chakotay gestured to the visitor's chair, determined to regain control of the situation, not to mention his own office. "Please sit down."  
  
Sloan acknowledged it with a slight dip of his head and took the chair Chakotay indicated. "How are you enjoying your current assignment?"  
  
Chakotay's voice was as non-committal as Sloan's. "How did you find out my current assignment, Mr Sloan?"  
  
"Please - just Sloan." The man waggled his fingers in a manner Chakotay thought was supposed to be self-deprecating. "I do so dislike titles - they box one in. To answer your question, my position gives me access to a certain level of information. Finding out your current assignment would not have been a difficult task. However, I've been following the progression of your career with some interest for some time now."  
  
"Why?" To hell with subtlety.  
  
Sloan smiled enigmatically. "The answer to that question is long and involved, Captain, and I'd prefer not to expound on it at present. Suffice it to say that I'm of the opinion that your skills are being wasted. Oh, you make a fine teacher of advanced tactical training. But your real talents lie in the areas of starship design and deployment."  
  
"I see."  
  
"And with that in mind, I've come to reinstate you as head of the USS Liberty design team."  
  
"You?" Chakotay couldn't help smiling.  
  
"I know what you're thinking. I'm merely a civilian consultant. I'm not even Starfleet. What gives me the power to reassign you?" Sloan reached into his pocket and pulled out a PADD, holding it out to Chakotay. "In this case, Captain, I'm just the messenger boy. I think you'll find it's all in order."  
  
By order of Admiral Owen Paris, Captain Chakotay is hereby requested and required to take command of Project Individuality, Vessel Design and Construction, assignment SJ746-32U, USS Liberty, NX-74206, Utopia Planetia, Mars, effective immediately. Signed, Adm. Owen Paris, stardate 46484.2.  
  
Chakotay re-read the PADD twice to be sure there was no mistake. "What about the Defiant?" he asked finally.  
  
"Still mothballed. She won't be battle-worthy til one of your crackerjack Starfleet engineers can come up with a way to strengthen the structural integrity field. Which means," Sloan leaned forward a little, "that it's all up to you, my friend. Currently, the Liberty and her future sisters stand our best chance of mounting an effective defense against our collectively-minded friends." He settled back in his chair. "Or any other threat to the security of the United Federation of Planets."  
  
Chakotay looked up sharply. "Still worried about the Romulans?"  
  
"One can never be too careful," Sloan demurred. "So, Captain, now that you've received your orders, perhaps you should start cleaning your desk." He rose, and automatically, Chakotay rose with him.  
  
"Oh, and Captain?" Sloan paused at the doorway. "I was sorry to hear about Lieutenant Ro. The Maquis are a lost cause if ever I saw one." He tut- tutted. "Such a waste."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
=/\=  
  
Back to work on the Liberty! As soon as Sloan had made his exit, Chakotay leaned back in his chair and grinned in delight.  
  
Sloan was right. Teaching advanced tactical skills to a bunch of eager young officers had been interesting, even challenging. But he'd been longing to get back to his ship since the project was halted.  
  
Ten months ago, the Defiant's problems had been deemed irresolvable for the foreseeable future. And progress on the Liberty had stalled as well; the regenerative shield grid hadn't performed up to scratch in the numerous simulations they'd run. Chakotay had been sure that, given time and resources, they could beat the flaws in both the Liberty's shielding and the Defiant's weight-to-power ratio. But Starfleet had disagreed. Work had begun on the NX-74600, the new scout vessel already designated Intrepid- class, and the Liberty was yesterday's news. Now, someone at Starfleet Command had changed his or her mind, and Chakotay wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  
  
It was a shame Ben Sisko wouldn't be back to resume their space race, but he'd assumed command of Deep Space Nine just after Project Individuality had been halted. His last communication to Chakotay had indicated that he wasn't planning on leaving DS9 any time soon. Sisko's discovery of the Bajoran wormhole had guaranteed that - Starfleet was itching to explore the Gamma quadrant, and Sisko himself had sounded just as excited at the prospect. Chakotay grinned, making a mental note to remind Ben to send him that Saurian brandy; it looked like he'd be winning that bet after all.  
  
He wanted to reimmerse himself in the Liberty project at once, in comfortable surroundings and without distraction. Suddenly energised, he launched himself from his chair and strode into the vestibule. "Lieutenant, comm me immediately if you hear from Starfleet. I'll be at my apartment."  
  
"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Ajuta called to his disappearing back.  
  
Chakotay was halfway out of the grounds before it occurred to him to wonder just what 'level of information' Sloan had access to, that he'd known about Lieutenant Ro's defection to the Maquis before her former captain had known it himself.  
  
  
  
November, 2369 - twenty-one months ago -  
  
"Welcome, Captain." Owen Paris beamed at Chakotay, extending his hand.  
  
Chakotay shook it. "Delighted to be back, sir," he grinned.  
  
"I'm sure you are. I know how you hate to leave a job unfinished." Paris slapped him on the back, guiding him toward the briefing table. "Let me introduce you to your new section heads. This is your chief engineer, Commander Joanna Paget, and her superbly talented team: Lieutenant Commander Kochi Savot, Lieutenant Filka Henson and Lieutenant Tuvok." Chakotay's head felt like a yoyo as he made eye contact with a greying human woman in her fifties; a slender, dark-haired Betazoid man; a young blonde woman with freckles and an infectious grin who, judging by her feline features and pointed, fur-tipped ears, appeared to be part-human, part-Caitian; and a tall and unsurprisingly unsmiling Vulcan man.  
  
"And you already know Sloan, of course."  
  
Chakotay's smile dimmed as he nodded to the man in black.  
  
"Unfortunately, we haven't assigned you an assistant yet."  
  
"Actually, I was hoping I could select Lieutenant Dari Ajuta as my assistant. She and I worked well together in the tactical training unit."  
  
Paris nodded. "Set it up and I'll sign the papers. Now, take a seat, Captain. We have a couple of surprises for you."  
  
For the next two hours Chakotay said little, concentrating on slideshow after lecture after PADD as his new team brought him up to date on the Liberty's progress. The project had been reactivated in July after a six- month hiatus, during which the new engineering team had made significant changes to the ship's specs. Commander Paget claimed the regenerative shielding grid was now performing at 80 percent efficiency; a few more tweaks and it should be ready for field testing. Lieutenant Tuvok, the team's munitions specialist, estimated seventy-three days til modification of the quantum torpedoes would be complete; the weight-to-power problems encountered by the Defiant might not have affected the Liberty so severely, but the balance was still delicate, and in early simulations the quantum torpedoes had displayed a disturbing tendency toward instability. Tuvok assured him that a new calibration technique, coupled with reinforced torpedo casing, would successfully counteract that problem.  
  
Savot, a quietly-spoken man with artist's hands and the typically mournful dark eyes of the Betazoid, was in charge of the prototype's structural design. There were no problems with the Liberty's structural integrity. The streamlined design of the ship and its lack of heavy weaponry - in comparison with the Defiant, anyway - prevented excessive stress on the integrity field.  
  
Though she was directly under Joanna Paget's command, Filka Henson gave the report on engine status on behalf of her boss. Chakotay could see why. He'd never seen anybody get so excited about a .002 percent increase in warp engine efficiency; the engines were obviously Henson's baby and Paget seemed content to let her take the lead. When Henson rose and stood by the large display monitor to point out the modified folding warp nacelle design they'd adapted from the new Intrepid-class prototype, Chakotay caught sight of a long, twitching blonde tail - he'd been right about her part-Caitian heritage, then. He noted with hastily concealed amusement that Henson purred with pleasure as she talked about her engines.  
  
Something in the schematic caught his attention, and he interrupted the flow of Lieutenant Henson's enthusiasm. "Lieutenant Tuvok, the last time I checked the Liberty's specs, she only had one pulse-fire torpedo tube and one standard launcher. I'm seeing two of each here. When did that happen?"  
  
Sloan spoke for the first time. "Captain, as you can see, there has been a great deal of progress since you were last here. Thanks to some ingenious redesigning, we've managed to double the torpedo firing capacity as well as increasing the total armaments the ship is able to carry. Commander Savot can assure you that we've compensated for the additional weight and firepower capability. There will be no adverse effects on the ship's structural or hull integrity."  
  
"I see," Chakotay said slowly. "Can this 'ingenious designing' be applied to the Defiant as well?"  
  
"Captain," Admiral Paris broke in gruffly, "I know you're interested in the Defiant, but don't let it distract you. You only need concern yourself with the Liberty at this stage."  
  
That doesn't answer my question, Chakotay thought, but kept it to himself. He turned back to the schematic. "Well, this all looks very promising. Any chance I can get a first-hand look?"  
  
"Keen, aren't you?" Paris grinned. "Come on then."  
  
Chakotay followed the admiral to the docking port, his team trailing behind. He noticed that Sloan kept easy pace with him, though Chakotay was a good several inches taller and moving quickly.  
  
There were armed security staff at the docking port. Chakotay stopped in surprise. "Worried about security, Admiral?"  
  
"Can't be too careful. She's an important ship, Chakotay."  
  
One of the burly men in gold-shouldered uniform stepped forward. "Good morning, sir. If you'd step this way, please."  
  
Confused, Chakotay followed, and was instructed to apply his eye to a retinal scanner and his fingertip to a DNA detector. They were on one of the most heavily-guarded Starfleet installations in the quadrant. Utopia Planetia was protected by multiple shielding, its computer systems were encoded by modulating algorithms, and they were a stone's-throw from Earth and several thousand easily-mobilised Starfleet officers. What the hell were these extra security precautions about?  
  
Careful? This was downright paranoid.  
  
Green-lighted, he and his team stepped into the anteroom. Expecting to walk straight onto the Liberty, Chakotay was surprised again when another large security officer stepped forward with a portable scanning device. "What are you looking for this time?" he demanded.  
  
"Covert surveillance devices, sir." The guard spoke in a monotone. Chakotay raised an eyebrow as he got the all-clear and finally stepped through the docking port and into his ship.  
  
His ship. He couldn't help beaming.  
  
He'd almost forgotten about the excessive security by the time he'd listened to Lieutenant Henson's unabridged speech on why the Liberty's engines would outclass almost any other ship's when it came to stable cruising capacity. She might talk a lot, but he was charmed by her childlike enthusiasm. Lieutenant Tuvok, by contrast, spoke precisely and infrequently, every word measured, when Chakotay asked for detail on the additional torpedo launchers. And he asked for a lot of detail. Tuvok's answers were satisfactory, so Chakotay led them onward - and stopped.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Affixed beneath the main engineering console, directly in front of the warp core, was an unusual cylindrical cabinet. It measured about one metre in height and the same in diameter. The casing appeared to be duranium, and there was a hinged door facing outward. He'd never seen anything like it in an engine room. He opened the door; the space inside was empty.  
  
"It's a storage cabinet," said Commander Paget. "For engineering tools."  
  
"Right there?" Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Aren't toolkits normally stored in the adjoining Jeffries tubes?"  
  
"Yes, but we thought this would be more convenient. We can also store hand phasers in there. Just in case of emergencies in Engineering. Not that we expect any," she smiled. "Now, Captain, perhaps you'd like to inspect the core efficiency logs?"  
  
Chakotay nodded, as though content, and followed Paget to the auxiliary workstation behind the warp core. He hummed and nodded and smiled in all the right places as she showed him the core status reports. But inside he was a churning mass of questions. Why had they doubled the torpedo capacity? Who had designed that strange cylindrical storage cabinet? Why had Admiral Paris evaded his question about the Defiant? What was with the new security protocols? And most of all, what the hell was a 'civilian advisor' doing involved in such a high-security project?  
  
Something just didn't sit right.  
  
=/\=  
  
Lieutenant Ajuta poked her head into Chakotay's office. "Er, Captain, are you planning on staying here all night? It's just that I've got a hot date, and -"  
  
Chakotay glanced up in surprise. "What time is it?"  
  
"1930 hours, sir." Ajuta hovered. "Are you working on something important? Do you need me to stick around?"  
  
"No, no - go. Enjoy your date." Chakotay made flapping motions at her.  
  
"If you don't mind me saying, sir, you look tired. Maybe you should call it a night."  
  
He put down his PADD and slumped back in his chair, rubbing at his forehead. "Now that you mention it, I'm exhausted. There's been so much done on this project since July that I feel like I've got a year's worth of reports to catch up on."  
  
"Well, you've only been back a couple of weeks." Ajuta grinned. "Though you've probably been here twenty-three hours a day, so I'd say you've just about caught up by now."  
  
Chakotay's face relaxed into a rare smile. He'd spent the last two weeks re- familiarising himself with the Liberty's specs, going over the upgrades, getting to know his new staff, and dealing with Sloan's irregular and unheralded appearances. No wonder he was tired. Ajuta was about the only source of comfort in a situation which had thrown him surprisingly off- balance.  
  
"And I couldn't have got this far without you, Dari. But now - go enjoy yourself. That's an order."  
  
"Aye, sir. G'night." Ajuta's pretty, spotted face stretched into an even wider grin, and then was whisked away. He could hear her boots quick- stepping their way down the corridor.  
  
Chakotay stood, stretched, winced at aching muscles and switched off his terminal. He'd go home, take a hot-water shower, fix himself some soup, collapse on the sofa with a good book and not think about Project Individuality for the rest of the night. Suddenly longing for some peace and quiet, he was out the door in a matter of moments.  
  
Showered, refreshed, and glad to be back in his apartment, he'd just opened a chilled bottle of chardonnay and put the soup on to heat - no replicated junk when he could have the real thing, thank you - when the door buzzer sounded. "Damn it," he muttered, taking the soup off the stove. If that was Sloan, he'd flatten him. He punched the entry pad and the door slid open.  
  
"Hello, Chakotay."  
  
It wasn't Sloan.  
  
"Jesus Christ."  
  
"Not quite, but thanks for the comparison. Can I come in?" And without waiting for an answer, she stepped past him into his apartment.  
  
"Interesting place," she commented, taking in the high ceilings and bare, whitewashed walls. "A little spartan for you, isn't it? Great view, though." She turned, noticing the wine glass in his nerveless fingers. "Don't suppose you want to pour me one of those?"  
  
Chakotay finally recovered. "Kate, what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
Kathryn Janeway put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. "Well, that's some greeting. Would you like me to leave?"  
  
"Hell, no."  
  
The wine glass shattered on the polished-wood floor as he took her in his arms.  
  
=/\=  
  
"So what are you doing in San Francisco?"  
  
"Oh, this is good. I haven't had soup this good in forever."  
  
"That's because you replicate. I cook."  
  
"I remember." She smiled and put down her spoon, resting her chin on one fist. "You look good, Chakotay. Tired, but good."  
  
"You look ... out of uniform."  
  
"I'm on compassionate leave. My mother's in hospital."  
  
"God, I'm sorry." He sent her a sympathetic glance. "Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"She's dying. There's nothing anyone can do." She rose abruptly, carrying her wine over to the window. From here she could see a wide expanse of the Bay, a segment of the Golden Gate and even a corner of the Academy grounds. "Her specialist's here, in San Francisco, and she's too sick to make the trip from Indiana anymore."  
  
Chakotay followed, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "I'm so sorry, Kate."  
  
"Actually, there is something you can do." She turned in his arms, looking up at him from under her lashes. "If it's not too much trouble - I mean, I don't want to impose ..."  
  
"Of course you can stay with me."  
  
She relaxed, smiling. "Thank you."  
  
"Is Phoebe in town?"  
  
Kathryn nodded. "She's staying with an old friend, but his place isn't big enough for three. I was going to find a hotel, but I'd much rather be with a friend." She rested her head on his chest. "I'd much rather be with you."  
  
No matter how long they'd known one another, no matter how intimate they'd been in the past, Chakotay still couldn't help the lightening of his heart at her words. Kate wasn't given to declarations of affection. He tightened his arms around her, brushing his chin against her soft, scented hair.  
  
She squeezed back slightly, then pulled away, moving over to the sofa and folding her legs beneath her. He followed. "So - Captain Chakotay, hmm? Congratulations."  
  
"Thanks." He grinned. "You'll be next."  
  
"Maybe." She smiled faintly. "Where are you posted now?"  
  
"Utopia Planetia. Vessel design and construction. What about you? Will you go back to the Galileo after ..." he trailed off, embarrassed. After your mother dies.  
  
"It's okay, Chakotay," but her smile had dimmed. "Truthfully, I don't know what I'll do. I've had just about enough of patrolling the DMZ - you know how much I love dealing with Cardassians. I'm thinking of asking for a transfer. Where to is another matter." She tilted her head back to catch the last of her wine. Chakotay found himself mesmerised by her long white throat and quickly looked away. "Don't suppose you could use an officer with scientific qualifications on your project?" she continued.  
  
"You'll have to ask Admiral Paris. He's my boss." Chakotay waited for her reaction and wasn't disappointed; she burst out laughing. "Maybe I should. It'd be just like old times. All we'd need is Lieutenant O'Day around to go critical over our pranks."  
  
"No can do," Chakotay smirked. "He's retired. I checked."  
  
"Thank God for small mercies," she snorted. "So are you going to tell me more about this project of yours?"  
  
"We're designing a new escort vessel, but I can't say much - it's classified." Chakotay thought about the triple security checks he had to run through every time he wanted access to the Liberty. He thought about Sloan and his enigmatic presence. He thought about his senior officers, all of them still strangers to him, none of them from the original Liberty team.  
  
She watched the light in his eyes fade a little. He was troubled about something. "What is it, Chakotay?"  
  
"Nothing, really." He tried to brush it off. "Just a few things I don't feel quite right about." He hesitated, as though about to say more, then shrugged. "It's not important."  
  
"If you say so," she replied, not believing him for a second. She unfolded herself from the couch. "More wine?"  
  
"Sure." He held out his glass and she took it over to the kitchen. "This place sure could use a woman's touch, Chakotay," she teased as she uncorked the bottle.  
  
"Good thing you're moving in, then," he shot back, grinning.  
  
"Oh, so I'm to pay my rent in household chores?" She navigated round the kitchen table and settled herself on the sofa next to him again, handing him his wine.  
  
"Depends. Have your housekeeping skills improved over the years?"  
  
"Not a bit."  
  
"Then I guess you'll have to pay your rent in other ways." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed.  
  
"Same old Chakotay."  
  
"Not that you'd know. You never call, baby, when you say you will." He faked a hangdog expression.  
  
"I'm a regular heartbreaker," she agreed, straight-faced.  
  
"Homewrecker."  
  
"Double-decker."  
  
"Woodpecker."  
  
They grinned foolishly at each other.  
  
"Kate?"  
  
"Yes, Chakotay?"  
  
"It's good to see you again." He brushed the back of his hand against her cheekbone and watched her shiver.  
  
"Kate."  
  
"Yes, Chakotay."  
  
"Come to bed."  
  
=/\=  
  
Something was different.  
  
Chakotay struggled to wakefulness and realised that the 'something different' was the smell of burning. House on fire! He stumbled out of bed and tripped on tangled sheets, smacking his elbow on the wall. "Ow," he howled.  
  
He heard a clatter from the kitchen and Kathryn Janeway poked her head into his bedroom. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Kate -" He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and the burning smell invaded his olfactory senses. "Oh no. Are you cooking?"  
  
"Yup. Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I trashed it and opened the windows, but it still stinks in here."  
  
"Oh, Kate." He grinned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "I was kidding about you taking over the housework."  
  
"Probably for the best," she agreed. "I'll take you out for breakfast."  
  
Chakotay lunged for her and snagged a corner of her shirt - his shirt, actually, and she looked a damn sight better in it than he did. Especially with those long bare legs ... "Get over here," he growled.  
  
"Aren't you hungry?" she teased, backing away.  
  
"Oh, yeah." In a flash he'd seized her around the waist and pulled her back into bed, burying his face in her tangled hair. She curved against him immediately, hands roaming. Chakotay slipped a hand inside her shirt and she arched with pleasure. He fumbled with her buttons and the shirt slid off her shoulders. "God, I've missed you," he murmured.  
  
"You'll be late for work," she whispered, lips brushing his ear.  
  
His hand slid between her legs and he felt her shiver. "To hell with work."  
  
He was late - he'd missed the morning briefing. Joanna Paget's daily schedule had been interrupted by his absence; she was grumpy, and not shy in letting him know it. They held a hasty meeting in the engine room. Twice he had to urge Filka Henson to cut short her report and get to the point. He'd had no time for breakfast and felt foggy and a little light-headed. The last thing he needed was a visit from Admiral Paris and his shadow, Sloan.  
  
Paris ribbed him about his uncustomary agitation while Chakotay gave them a quick status update - basically, everything was on track - and sighed in relief as they got up to leave. Sloan turned at the door. "By the way, Captain, I trust you had a pleasant evening with Commander Janeway."  
  
Chakotay stilled.  
  
Admiral Paris broke into a grin. "Don't tell me my little Katie's in town! Well, no wonder you look so ruffled. Tell her to make an old man's day and give me a call, will you?"  
  
Chakotay ignored him, focused on the man in black. "How the hell do you know about that, Sloan?"  
  
Sloan's knowing smile never faltered. "I told you before, Captain. I've made it my business to take an interest in your career."  
  
"In my career, yes." Chakotay was so angry he could barely spit the words out. "My personal life is an entirely different matter."  
  
"I beg to differ, Captain," Sloan said smoothly. "Your personal life affects your career in a number of ways, some of which you've compellingly displayed this morning."  
  
For a moment Chakotay was tempted to smack that smirk off the dapper man's face. If it weren't for Admiral Paris' presence ... "Listen very carefully, Sloan," he stated evenly. "Snooping around my Starfleet records is one thing. I may not like it, but I can put up with it. But spying on me after hours is crossing the line. Do that again, and I promise you'll regret it. Are we clear?"  
  
The smile never faltered on the smaller man's face. "Clear as a bell, Captain." He observed Chakotay for another moment, then turned away. "Have a pleasant day."  
  
For once Admiral Paris was silent, merely arching an eyebrow in Chakotay's direction as he followed Sloan out of the office.  
  
Chakotay realised he was gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles had gone white. He sank back into his seat and tapped the intercom. "Dari, can you come in here for a moment?"  
  
Lieutenant Ajuta bustled in.  
  
"Close the door, please."  
  
She did so, and came over to sit opposite him, green eyes wide with questions.  
  
"Lieutenant, what do you know about Sloan?"  
  
Ajuta's nose wrinkled. "Absolutely nothing." She sounded disgusted; she prided herself on her ability to uncover the things most people preferred left covered.  
  
"You don't know where he's from? Who he works for? Anything about his background?"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. If there's anything to know, I don't know it." She brightened. "I can try to find out if you like."  
  
A complementary talent of Dari Ajuta's was her almost supernatural ability to hack computer systems. She was never malicious, but she did like to find out people's secrets. And listening wasn't the only way she accomplished that.  
  
Chakotay thought about it and nodded slowly. "Be careful, Dari. I know as little about him as you do. There could be a good reason for that. Don't let him know you're checking up on him."  
  
"Understood, Captain."  
  
He was still staring at the wall ten minutes after she'd left, trying to order what he knew about Sloan in his head.  
  
Fact: Sloan wasn't in Starfleet, or if he was, there was no record of it.  
  
Fact: neither Sloan nor Admiral Paris was being entirely forthcoming regarding the Liberty's recent enhancements.  
  
Fact: Sloan had access to high-level classified information regarding Romulan weapon development, or at least had implied as much.  
  
Fact: Sloan was watching him.  
  
Anything else he thought he knew about Sloan was speculation, at best. Even the bit about the new Romulan torpedoes wasn't a certainty. Sloan had hinted and suggested and implied, but he'd never come right out and confirmed it. Chakotay half-suspected it was a blind, that Sloan had been testing him. But testing what? His allegiance to Starfleet and the Federation?  
  
At their first meeting, Sloan had implied that there were times when Starfleet Intelligence, bound by Federation regulations, couldn't 'get the job done'.  
  
Had he been testing Chakotay's reaction to that idea? Had he been trying to find out if Chakotay would play outside the rules?  
  
Why? Who was he? Starfleet Intelligence? Internal Affairs? Chakotay gnawed his bottom lip, mind racing. Could he be a spy? But for whom - the Romulans?  
  
He shook his head.  
  
There was no way to know. All he could do was wait and hope that Dari's investigation turned up something. Anything. 


	3. -part three-

"Kate? You home?" His voice echoed through the apartment. No answer.  
  
Chakotay pulled off his uniform jacket and turtleneck and tossed them into the refresher. "Water, four degrees Celsius," he ordered the replicator, and took his drink over to the sofa.  
  
Kathryn Janeway was curled up on it in a miserable ball. "Jesus," he reacted, heart pounding. "I didn't know you were there. Why didn't you answer?"  
  
She looked up at him and her face was streaked with tears. Instantly he was crouched at her side, pulling her into the comfort of his arms. "Oh Kate. Your mother?"  
  
She shook her head. "The Galileo." Her face crumpled. "I tried to contact Captain Bradley to let her know I wouldn't be back on board next week, but some admiral intercepted my message." She shuddered. "Oh God, Chakotay. They're all dead. All of them."  
  
"How?" he gasped.  
  
"Starfleet's still investigating." Her voice was raw. "They'd been following a Maquis raider when they entered the Badlands and lost contact with Starfleet. Apparently -" she took a shuddering breath. "There was a warp core breach. No warning, just - boom."  
  
Chakotay held her tight. Thank God you were here, he thought, but didn't say. "Did the Maquis fire on them?" he asked gently.  
  
"We'd been following that raider for days. It was a rickety old barge, held together with spit and hope. There's no way it could take on a Nebula-class ship. Starfleet thinks the Galileo was hit by a plasma storm. They shouldn't have been in the Badlands," she whispered. "A Nebula-class starship's too big to maneuver through those plasma storms. Sarah Bradley knew that." She scrubbed at her eyes. "Something's not right. It just doesn't fit."  
  
"You think another ship might have been involved?"  
  
"We weren't the only ones following that raider, Chakotay. There were two Cardassian cruisers sneaking around the DMZ. We'd already warned them off. Maybe they went after the Maquis and Captain Bradley got caught in the crossfire. I don't know." Her shoulders heaved as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. "I should have been there. Maybe I could have helped, I don't know ... oh God, Chakotay, seven hundred people ..."  
  
"Shh ..." He rocked her, hands moving gently on her back. Seven hundred people. He thought about the Saber and her destruction at Wolf 359, the desperate agony of that loss, the awful guilt he'd felt at being one of the few survivors. He knew exactly what Kathryn was going through.  
  
Much later he tucked her into bed and held her hand until she fell into a troubled sleep. He pulled the door partway closed and headed into his study to contact Admiral Paris.  
  
~Captain?~  
  
"I'm sorry to bother you at home, Admiral, but I've just heard some bad news. The Galileo was destroyed with all hands this afternoon."  
  
~I heard.~ Paris' face was grave. ~How's Katie?~  
  
"Not good. Admiral, has there been any news on how and why the ship was destroyed? Kathryn said there was an investigation under way."  
  
On screen, the admiral shook his head. ~Preliminary reports suggest they strayed into the Badlands and encountered an area thick with plasma storms.~  
  
"Kathryn says Captain Bradley wouldn't have entered the Badlands unless there was no other option. Was there any indication they were being attacked?"  
  
~By whom? The Maquis?~  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "Or the Cardassians, maybe."  
  
~Don't be ridiculous, son. The ceasefire ...~  
  
"The Cardassians have violated the ceasefire before, Admiral." Chakotay folded his arms.  
  
Admiral Paris leaned forward. ~Captain, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that any Cardassian vessels were anywhere near the Galileo when she overloaded. I suggest you cease this line of questioning immediately.~  
  
Chakotay watched him carefully. Paris always looked stern, but he was downright scowling now. Chakotay realised the admiral was nervous. Why? Because he didn't want Chakotay speculating that the Cardassians could have been involved? Everybody knew the Cardies weren't the greatest respecters of borders and treaties. Was Paris concerned that Chakotay might need to be reprimanded for his suspicions? Or did the admiral know something he wasn't telling?  
  
"Thank you for your time, Admiral. If you hear anything else, would you let me know?"  
  
~Of course. Good night, Captain.~  
  
The screen flickered off and Chakotay sat back. More questions. He was really getting sick of questions.  
  
=/\=  
  
"... and Commander Savot wants to meet with you at 1400 hours regarding the latest hull integrity tests ... Captain? Are you all right?"  
  
"What?" Chakotay brought himself out of his daze and blinked at Lieutenant Ajuta. "Sorry, Dari. I'm okay, just got a lot on my mind."  
  
Ajuta put down her PADD. "I heard about the Galileo. Is Commander Janeway still staying with you?"  
  
He nodded. "Dari, have you made any progress on the matter we discussed last week?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. I've tried all the obvious channels, and a few less obvious, but nobody has ever heard of Sloan. I couldn't even find a birth certificate."  
  
"Well, I guess that's progress of a sort," Chakotay said wryly. "It may confirm a suspicion of mine, anyway."  
  
"Such as? If you don't mind me asking, Captain," Ajuta amended hastily.  
  
Chakotay got up and paced over to the window. "Sloan appears out of nowhere, no background, no qualifications, and yet he's working on a high- security Starfleet project. He knows things no civilian should know. He's been keeping tabs on me for who knows how long. My suspicion is that he's some kind of spy."  
  
"Makes sense." Ajuta tapped a finger against her chin. "Think he's working for the Romulans? The Cardassians?" She frowned. "Do you think Admiral Paris knows?"  
  
"He must know something." Chakotay leaned his head against the window. "But if he shares my suspicions, why the hell is Sloan still involved in this project?"  
  
"Could Sloan be working for Starfleet in some capacity?"  
  
"But what?" Chakotay turned, frustrated. "What is he doing here? He told me he's advising Admiral Paris on tactical strategies. But against whom? This ship is being built to defend against the Borg, but Sloan seems more concerned with the Romulan threat. And how could someone who's not even in Starfleet have access to the kind of information he seems to have?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the headache that had been looming since he'd learned about the Galileo. "If he was with Intelligence I could understand it. But then there'd be personnel files, medical and psych files, service records. And there's nothing." He slammed a hand against the wall and Ajuta jumped. "Sorry, Dari. I guess I'm a little worked up."  
  
She was looking at him with an expression he'd never seen before. It looked ... calculating. As though she were trying to work out how to tell him something. "What?" he demanded.  
  
"Captain -" Ajuta fidgeted. "Call me crazy, but ... have you ever considered the possibility that Starfleet Intelligence might not be the only surveillance and information-gathering outfit in the Federation?"  
  
He stared. "What are you talking about?"  
  
She seemed to be trying to find the right words. "You know how I like to find out the stuff nobody's supposed to know?" she began finally. He nodded. "Well, I've been hacking systems since I was old enough to hold a PADD, and I have a suspicious mind and the ear to go with it. In the past, if ever I've wanted to find out something, it might take a little time and effort, but I'll find it. But this Sloan -" She shook her head. "Blank walls. Everywhere. I've got friends in Starfleet Intel, and they're supposed to know everything, but there's no trace of Sloan in any computer system they can access. That might have been possible a century ago, but these days everybody has some kind of computer record, even if it's just a birth notification. If I hadn't seen Sloan with my very own eyes, I'd swear the man simply did not exist."  
  
He waited.  
  
"What I'm saying," she went on, "is that he must have had a record at some point, but it's been wiped so thoroughly and so expertly that officially, there is no Sloan. Who could possibly have the kind of power that can erase a person from technological existence in this century?" She leaned forward, speaking forcefully, though she already had her captain's complete attention. "Even a surgically-altered Romulan spy leaves some kind of trace, however faint. A transit record from a ship. A molecular trace from a transporter log. Hell, a happy snap at a sidewalk cafe. Something. But not Sloan. Believe me, Captain, the only way a person who's entered Federation space could leave no computer trace of any kind, is if he somehow has access to the kind of Federation surveillance and security records I can only dream about."  
  
There was a stunned silence.  
  
"I hope to hell you're wrong about this, Dari," Chakotay said finally. "Because if you're right, it means somebody high up in the Federation echelons is running covert operations which are directly contrary to everything the Federation stands for."  
  
Dari looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm not so sure it's just somebody high up, sir," she admitted. "Off the record?"  
  
"Dari, everything we've said in the past few minutes is off the record."  
  
"Of course," she blushed, "but what I was going to say is that this ... covert operation ... might be a lot more widespread than one top-level Federation officer and a few mavericks like Sloan."  
  
"Go on."  
  
She leaned forward again. "Have you ever asked Admiral Paris about Sloan, sir?"  
  
"He told me Sloan was a civilian with a great deal of tactical experience who was freelancing as a security advisor to Starfleet Operations."  
  
"But he wouldn't tell you where Sloan got this tactical experience, or why his expertise was so necessary to this particular project?"  
  
"He said it was classified," Chakotay said slowly.  
  
"And of course, it's occurred to you to wonder if Admiral Paris knows what it is and why it's classified."  
  
He looked at his hands. "Lieutenant ... Owen Paris was my captain on my first posting. I served under him for three years on the Al-Batani and we've worked closely together twice since. I consider him an honoured friend, and I hope he holds me in the same regard. But ..." and he looked up at her and saw her green eyes brimming with sympathy, "yes. It has occurred to me to wonder."  
  
"And if Admiral Paris is involved," she said evenly, "how many others might be involved as well?"  
  
Chakotay leaned on his desk as though unable to hold himself upright anymore. "A highly organised and incredibly well-hidden network of covert operatives, working for Federation interests. A Tal Shiar for the Federation." He felt sick. "Expressly forbidden by the Federation Charter."  
  
"Actually ..."  
  
Chakotay felt stricken. There was more?  
  
"It's not expressly forbidden by the Charter," she admitted. "It may be contrary to all the principles we claim the Federation stands for, but there is a section in the Charter which could be interpreted to allow for an organisation like this."  
  
She held a PADD out to him. He cringed. "Right here," she pointed. He took the PADD, read, and handed it back to her.  
  
"Interesting, isn't it?" she said. "This 'autonomous investigative agency' they mention - why has nobody ever heard of it? If it's autonomous, it can't be an agency run by Starfleet officers, like Intelligence or Internal Affairs, can it? And the reference to 'nonspecific discretionary power over nonspecific Starfleet matters' is so broad it could be interpreted to mean almost anything."  
  
Chakotay's bronzed skin had taken on an ashy pallor.  
  
"So what the hell," Dari finished, "do they want with the Liberty?"  
  
=/\=  
  
"Are you sure you feel up to this?"  
  
"Chakotay, I'm fine. Really."  
  
"Because we could skip it and stay here if you want ..."  
  
Kathryn paused in the act of affixing the captain's pips to the collar of Chakotay's dress uniform, sending him an amused look. "You've been trying to get out of this reception all day. What gives?"  
  
"I have not," he said indignantly. "I was concerned for you, that's all." After the memorial service for the crew of the Galileo two days earlier, she'd declared that if one more person told her it was a terrible tragedy, she'd self-combust.  
  
"Well, I'll be fine. I could hardly be a no-show at a reception commemorating the Galileo crew when I'm the only one left. Besides, I'm a Starfleet officer, Chakotay. I've lost people I've served with before." Maybe not seven hundred of them at once, but ...  
  
He grasped her gently by the shoulders and brushed his lips against her forehead. "I know." He set her back, holding her at arms'-length. "Damn, I love a woman in dress uniform."  
  
Her smile split her pretty face and chased the clouds away. "Any woman? My, you must be easy to please."  
  
"Oh, no, I'm quite particular," he grinned. "She's got to be the right height to hold - like so -" he gathered her against him, tucking her head under his chin. "She's got to have hair long enough that I can spill it through my fingers," moving his hands into her unbound hair. "And she's got to be sexy and smart, and sweet and strong."  
  
Kathryn snorted into his chest. "Have you been borrowing my sister's reading material?"  
  
"Oh, you wound me," grinned Chakotay. "I thought you women loved that sweet talkin' stuff."  
  
"I'm touched," she said dryly, "but we still have to go to the reception. And I still have to pin my hair up, so would you mind getting your paws out of it?" She softened the words with a smile.  
  
In spite of her brave words, as they ascended the imposing steps to Zefram Cochrane Hall, Chakotay felt Kathryn's hand slip into his and grip tightly as she braced herself for the flow of sympathy to come. He squeezed back reassuringly. "I'll be here," he whispered. She nodded tightly and released his hand. He watched the professional mask slip over her features as Admiral Nechayev detached herself from a group near the entrance and came over to greet them.  
  
"Commander, I am so sorry for your loss. For all of us." Was that a note of genuine regret he detected in the admiral's tone? Chakotay knew Janeway had dealt with Alynna Nechayev before. He also knew there was no love lost between Kathryn and the woman the lower ranks had nicknamed 'Medusa'. Nechayev had been one of the youngest officers ever to be promoted to the admiralty, and had seemingly dedicated every moment of her career to proving she was tough enough to excel at her job. And she did, but not without stepping on a few toes along the way.  
  
Janeway was shaking Nechayev's hand. "Thank you, Admiral. I know you and Captain Bradley were friends. She was a fine captain, and we'll all miss her."  
  
"As we will miss them all." Nechayev paused just long enough to satisfy protocol, then went on, "Actually, Commander, there's something I'd like to discuss with you. I'm aware you're on compassionate leave, but perhaps you could make time to come to my office on Tuesday. 1700 hours."  
  
Janeway raised an eyebrow. "That sounds rather like an order, Admiral."  
  
Nechayev's poise never faltered. "Consider it so, if you prefer. I'll see you on Tuesday, Commander." She nodded to Chakotay. "Captain. If you'll excuse me."  
  
Chakotay realised Kathryn's feathers were ruffled. "An invitation from the brass," he joked, trying to make light of it. "Aren't you the popular one?"  
  
"It was hardly an invitation," she muttered. "I wonder what she wants from me."  
  
"Maybe she wants to promote you."  
  
Kathryn snorted. "Unlikely. Come on. The sooner we do the meet and greet, the sooner we can get out of here."  
  
Some hours later, Chakotay excused himself from a dry debate between two deskbound admirals and snagged a couple of champagnes from a passing waiter, looking around for his date. He eventually spotted her on the far side of the hall, engrossed in conversation with a man in dress uniform and another in a dinner suit. He weaved his way through the crowd towards them.  
  
Kathryn spotted him and broke off the conversation. "Chakotay." She smiled as he reached her side, accepting the champage he offered her. "Do you know Commander Cal Hudson?"  
  
"Only by reputation." Chakotay shook the man's hand. "I hear you've been working as an attaché to our colonies along the DMZ. I get all the gossip from Ben Sisko on DS9."  
  
At the mention of Commander Sisko, Hudson smiled. "Ben and I were at the Academy together. Are the two of you friends?"  
  
"We were colleagues until a few months ago," Chakotay explained. "But I'll consider him a friend as long as he doesn't renege on the bottle of Saurian brandy he's going to owe me."  
  
Janeway rolled her eyes. "Don't ask," she advised as Hudson's dark face took on a puzzled look. She turned to the man in civvies. "Captain Chakotay, this is Jokim Brill, a representative from Volan II."  
  
The Volan system was situated in the demilitarised zone and supported two Federation colonies on its second and third planets. Chakotay shook Brill's hand enthusiastically. "I'm from the Dorvan system myself," he explained. "We're practically neighbours."  
  
Brill inspected him carefully with surprisingly inscrutable Betazoid eyes. "Then you must also be concerned about the recent developments in the DMZ." He spoke softly, but his presence was authoritative enough that the three command-rank Starfleet officers paid close attention.  
  
"To which recent developments are you referring?" Chakotay asked politely.  
  
He thought he caught a flash of anger in the man's dark eyes. "I'm referring to the increased occurrences of Cardassian raids on Federation colonies, and the corresponding loss of life, liberty and security."  
  
Chakotay's smile faded.  
  
"Jokim is here to address the Federation Council on that very issue." Janeway's voice was perfectly neutral.  
  
"Tell me, Captain, have you been home recently?"  
  
"No." Chakotay felt uncomfortable. "I haven't been home for some time."  
  
Brill regarded him coolly. "Then I advise you to do so, before you no longer have the option."  
  
"What do you mean?" He really didn't like the way this conversation was going.  
  
"I place very little trust in Cardassian promises, Captain. And I suspect your people feel the same way. We are targets for their aggression, as your colleagues here can vouch."  
  
Chakotay paled. "Are you suggesting the Cardassians might attack Dorvan?"  
  
"That is a very real possibility."  
  
"Are you Maquis?" he asked bluntly.  
  
Janeway came to life. "Jokim is the official representative of the Volan colonists," she said, adding pointedly, "There's no need for accusations, Captain."  
  
Chakotay calmed himself with visible effort. "Of course, Commander." He sent her an unreadable glance. "May I have a word with you in private?"  
  
Janeway nodded, following him through the crowd until they reached the foyer. Chakotay steered her into a corner and then rounded on her. "What the hell are you playing at, Kate?"  
  
She said nothing.  
  
"Is that man a member of the Maquis?"  
  
She smoothed her chignon unnecessarily. "If he is, he hasn't said so to me."  
  
"If he did, you'd be duty bound to arrest him," Chakotay retorted. "You know that, and so does he. So I ask you again: What are you playing at?"  
  
"I'm not playing at anything," she snapped. "This is deadly serious, in case you hadn't noticed."  
  
"I'm beginning to," he muttered.  
  
She began to pace. "I've been on patrol in the DMZ for the past two years, Chakotay. I've seen things. Things that never reach the Federation news service. Things that Starfleet has been covering up. These people are living in fear every day, and Starfleet is turning a blind eye. Can you blame them for feeling abandoned? For taking steps to protect themselves, because they can't count on those who claim to protect them?"  
  
"I understand your sympathy for these people, Kathryn," he said in a gentler tone. "And I applaud it. But it seems to me you're getting a little too involved."  
  
"And it seems to me you're not involved enough," she retorted. "Jokim was right, you know. You should go back to Dorvan. Spend some time with your family. See what's really going on in the so-called demilitarised zone."  
  
"Don't change the subject. Tell me what's going on."  
  
"I'm telling you. The DMZ is a powder keg, and the Cardassians are lighting the fuse."  
  
"And where will you be standing if it all blows up?"  
  
She stopped pacing and faced him. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I hope I'll be standing in the right place."  
  
=/\=  
  
Automatic doors don't slam, so when Kathryn Janeway stormed into Chakotay's apartment the following Tuesday evening, she kicked the door instead, then turned and gave it another kick for good measure.  
  
"Bad day?" Chakotay couldn't hide his smirk; she looked like a five-year- old in the throes of a temper tantrum.  
  
She was almost speechless with fury. "I've just spent" - she yanked off her winter jacket and flung it in the general direction of the kitchen table - "two hours with Admiral Nechayev" - her scarf went flying as she placed emphatic scorn on the admiral's name - "being taken to task" - she stripped off one glove and threw it at the sofa - "for every decision I ever made" - the other glove sailed perilously close to Chakotay's head - "on the Galileo. She had the nerve," Kathryn continued, stomping over to Chakotay, "to suggest that I curb my maverick tendencies - that's how she put it - if I ever want to move up the ranks and command a ship of my own." She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.  
  
Chakotay's smirk became a genuine smile. "That's wonderful."  
  
"Wonderful? Chakotay, were you listening to me?"  
  
"So Nechayev gave you a talking-to about your command style." Chakotay captured her hands in his. "Don't you know what that means?"  
  
Her blank look indicated that she was still waiting for the punchline.  
  
"She gave the same lecture to Will Riker, just before he was offered command of the Melbourne," Chakotay explained. "She wouldn't have bothered with the 'effective methods of command' speech if she didn't intend to see you put it into practice. Kathryn, I believe you're soon to be offered a promotion."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Nope. Riker told me the same story. Apparently he has 'maverick tendencies' too."  
  
"Riker turned the Melbourne down," Janeway pointed out, still sulky.  
  
"I don't think Nechayev's lecture had anything to do with that decision."  
  
She was silent for a moment, biting the edge of her forefinger. "Well," she said finally, "she hasn't offered me anything yet."  
  
"She will." Chakotay grinned at her. "Captain Janeway, hmm? Let the galaxy beware."  
  
  
  
January, 2370 - nineteen months ago -  
  
Fortunately, Kathryn was at dinner with her sister when Lieutenant Ajuta arrived unannounced at Chakotay's apartment one cold Saturday night. He let her in and she stood just inside the room, clutching a PADD to her chest. She was so pale that the intricate markings along the sides of her face seemed to glow.  
  
"Captain," she began, and couldn't seem to find the words. She took several steps toward him and dropped the PADD onto his kitchen table as though it burned her fingers. "We have a problem," she stated finally.  
  
He picked up the PADD. "This is Starfleet Command's response to the report I sent last week."  
  
"It is, and it isn't." Ajuta wrung her hands. "I was working late last night and I noticed some discrepancies in the transmission, so I dug a little deeper, and I uncovered a hidden message."  
  
Chakotay stared at her. "Come into my study," he suggested. She seemed shell-shocked; he had to put an arm around her shoulder and guide her into the cubbyhole he used as a home office.  
  
"It took some doing to even find it," she admitted, when he'd ordered her a hot drink from the replicator and sat her on the sofa. "I wouldn't even have noticed under normal circumstances, but you did ask me to investigate Sloan, and I guess I've been particularly aware of anything unusual."  
  
"What does this have to do with Sloan?"  
  
Ajuta took the PADD from him and keyed in a rapid sequence. "I wasn't sure at first - I thought the hidden message could have just been a computer error - but then I realised that there is a message, and it's been encoded." She showed him. A dazzling array of symbols danced across the small screen. "There are multiple layers of encryption here," Ajuta continued. "I broke the first three layers fairly quickly, but the final two are more sophisticated than almost anything I've seen before. I was up all night decoding them, but -" she tapped at the PADD again - "look what I found."  
  
Chakotay skimmed the message, then, dread clutching his heart, went back to the top and re-read it carefully. The sender and addressee were unidentified, but the message appeared to be a report on the feasibility of integrating certain equipment into a Federation starship. The equipment was referred to only as Items S19-JH742 and R32-LK003. The Federation starship was identified as the USS Liberty, registry number NX-74206.  
  
He looked up at his assistant, but before he could ask, she confessed, "I don't know what that equipment is either, sir. But I suspect that Sloan and his colleagues - whomever they might be - are piggybacking their correspondence onto your reports on a regular basis. We should monitor this, check for encrypted messages whenever you get a transmission from Command. We might find out exactly what that equipment is."  
  
"We don't even have proof that this message was meant for Sloan," Chakotay pointed out.  
  
"No, sir, but who else could have been the recipient? If Starfleet had decided the Liberty was going to be decked out with new equipment, the orders would've come through official channels to you and Admiral Paris. Somebody shady is involved in this, and Sloan's the shadiest character I've come across in a long time."  
  
"I don't doubt it." Chakotay felt weary. "But we do still need proof if we're going to expose him."  
  
"Expose him?" Lieutenant Ajuta looked horrified. "Captain, with all due respect, if Sloan has half the connections I suspect he has, trying to expose him could get you killed."  
  
"What else can I do, Dari?" He got to his feet in frustration. "Sloan may be a Romulan spy, or he may be part of an unauthorised intelligence operation which, according to Starfleet Intel, doesn't even exist. And he's equipping my ship with devices I know nothing about, and keeping it secret from me and everybody else on this project."  
  
"That I doubt." Dari looked at her hands. "I think somebody on the project knows what he's up to, and is in on it with him. I don't know who."  
  
"I did think it was strange that all of the senior officers I worked with on the first leg of the project were reassigned," Chakotay said slowly.  
  
Dari nodded. "If I were taking over a project for purposes unknown, and I wanted to bring in someone I could trust, the first thing I'd do would be replace as many of the incumbent staff as I could. That way, my inside man wouldn't be so noticeable."  
  
Chakotay pulled his desk monitor to face him and called up the Project Individuality crew manifest. "There have been twelve staff reassignments since my first tenure as project head. All four of the senior staff are new - Paget, Savot, Henson and Tuvok. You replaced Lieutenant Markov as my assistant, of course. The Security division seems to have had the largest staff influx, with two new lieutenants, Smith and B'Tenga, and three ensigns, only one of whom was replacing a previous officer. The other two incomers are crewmen assisting in Engineering, both of whom replaced crewmen who were assigned elsewhere." He turned the screen to show Ajuta. "Four of those security posts weren't filled when I was here previously, but considering the increased security protocols around here, I guess those can be explained."  
  
"True, but that doesn't mean they're above suspicion."  
  
"No." He sighed. "Thanks to that encrypted message, the only one of these twelve people I'd feel comfortable turning my back on is you."  
  
Her mouth quirked to the side. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Captain. Although, of course, I could be Sloan's accomplice, feeding you misinformation to throw you off-track."  
  
He looked at her sharply and her smile faded. "Bad joke," she admitted.  
  
"No -" Chakotay sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I'm starting to see shadows everywhere." He handed back the PADD she'd arrived with. "Is there somewhere safe you can keep a copy of this message?"  
  
"I'm a hacker, sir. I've got a stand-alone data storage system even I can't break into."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "Download this into it and guard it with your life. And keep an eye out for more of those encrypted correspondences." He patted her shoulder. "I know I don't have to tell you to be careful."  
  
"No, sir, you don't," Dari smiled. "But I appreciate it all the same."  
  
=/\=  
  
"I got another summons from Nechayev today."  
  
Chakotay glanced over. Kathryn was leaning against the table, watching him cook, sipping occasionally from a glass of wine.  
  
"Did she give you any hints?"  
  
"No." She swirled the wine around inside the glass. "Probably wants to tell me off for not seeing my counselor."  
  
Chakotay wiped tomato-stained hands on a towel and turned. "Why haven't you been seeing your counselor?"  
  
She spoke quietly. "To be honest, Chakotay, I couldn't face it. I spend every day by my mother's bed, watching her die a piece at a time, and when I'm not with her I'm ..." she stopped abruptly. "It doesn't matter. But I've never been comfortable with counselors, and the loss of the Galileo is just ... it's too big, Chakotay. I can't talk about it. Not yet." She sighed. "I feel like I'm in limbo, waiting for something terrible to happen."  
  
He watched her, trying to work out if she wanted to be comforted. She'd set the wineglass on the table and was hugging herself, arms wrapped around her body. He took two steps forward and she flinched back. He stopped.  
  
"I need to do something," she said suddenly. "I can't stand this waiting. Waiting for my mother to die, waiting for the Cardassians to start a war."  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
She turned away, letting her hair swing down to hide her face, and didn't answer.  
  
"Nechayev may have an assignment for you," he remarked, turning back to chopping vegetables. "But I'm not sure going back to active duty is the solution."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, your mother ..." He let the sentence trail off.  
  
"She's not expected to live beyond the week." To a stranger, Kathryn's blunt statement might have sounded callous. Chakotay knew better. Kathryn was hoping that putting it into words would lessen its power.  
  
"And for another," he went on, deliberately keeping his tone neutral, "I don't think active Starfleet duty would be the best job for someone whose loyalties are so clearly divided."  
  
Kathryn looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"You know what it means. Ever since you arrived here two months ago, you've been displaying a lot of sympathy for the Maquis. As a Starfleet officer, your duty is to apprehend them. They're terrorists, Kate, and like it or not, the Cardassians are not our enemies."  
  
"Well, I don't like it," she snapped. "If you'd seen what I've seen ..."  
  
"I know what the Cardassians are capable of."  
  
"But you've never experienced it first-hand," she almost whispered. Chakotay's eyes widened. In all the years he'd known her, Kathryn had never initiated discussion on her capture by the Cardassians. It had happened almost eight years ago, not long after he'd left the Al-Batani. She was so reticent about it that he'd had to find out from Owen Paris.  
  
He put down the paring knife and faced her again. "Is that why you're so sympathetic to the colonists in the DMZ?" he asked gently.  
  
"I'd be sympathetic anyway," she said slowly. "These people's homes - their very lives - are in danger, and the Federation is partly to blame. But yes, I suppose my own experiences bring it even closer to home. I can't stand to think about those innocent people being slaughtered, the torture and the rape ... I can't bear to sit back and do nothing about it." She was visibly shaking, though her eyes were dry.  
  
He moved toward her, and this time she let him take her hands. "Kate," he said, "you need to talk to that counselor. Please."  
  
She bowed her head. "You're probably right."  
  
"Of course I am." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "When are you seeing Nechayev?"  
  
"Tomorrow." Responding to the change in tone, she pulled her hands from his grasp and moved away to set the table.  
  
They ate in virtual silence. He could see Kathryn was still occupied with foreshadowings of war and treachery and death. His own thoughts were similarly ominous. He found himself wishing he could tell her about them: Sloan, the secret message, his suspicions, but it was bad enough that he'd got Dari Ajuta involved. Better to keep his own counsel. A situation this potentially dangerous had to be handled with kid gloves.  
  
He began to realise just how dangerous the situation was the next morning, when Dari Ajuta presented him with another decoded transmission.  
  
"Don't read it here," she whispered as she flung herself into his office. "Come with me now."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"Off the grounds." And she wouldn't say any more, and held a finger to her lips when he tried to speak.  
  
They transported from Utopia Planetia down to the terraformed surface of Mars. She made him walk the streets with her, occasionally doubling back on their tracks, for twenty minutes before she finally gave him the PADD. They'd turned onto a quiet street and were walking leisurely, ignored by the occasional passers-by. Ajuta kept glancing over her shoulder. Chakotay began reading. He hadn't even finished the first paragraph before he stopped in his tracks and stared at his assistant.  
  
She met his gaze and he thought she looked as though she'd lost the last traces of her innocence. He could understand why. The PADD identified the equipment the previous transmission had mentioned. Equipment Item R32-LK003 turned out to be a complement of Romulan chroniton torpedoes, developed only recently and appropriated, presumably by Sloan or one of his fellows, to be studied and duplicated with the aim of installing them into the Liberty's armament. The other item was even more shocking. Item S19-JH742 was identified as a Starfleet-developed phased cloaking device. The transmission alluded to problems with the device, which had been solved since its initial test on the USS Pegasus in 2358.  
  
"The rest of the message is all about the Romulan torpedoes," Ajuta said in a low voice. "There have apparently been major flaws in their design. A chroniton torpedo could penetrate any conventional shield - if they could get them to work right. They're very unstable at present and can self- detonate without warning in proximity to tachyon emissions."  
  
Chakotay swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat, and his voice cracked when he spoke. "A phased cloak? Developed by Starfleet, in violation of the Treaty of Algeron?" He was shaking his head. "Stolen Romulan torpedoes are bad enough. But to think that Starfleet sanctioned this ..." In the space of a heartbeat his world had been turned on its head. "And now they want to put it on my ship."  
  
He remembered the Liberty's extra torpedo tubes, the strange cabinet in Engineering, and checked the PADD again, running some mental measurements. Yes, the cloaking device would fit perfectly into that duranium cabinet under the main engineering console. Yes, the chroniton torpedoes were roughly the same size as their standard photon and quantum torpedoes, and could be fired from Starfleet torpedo launchers. He felt sick.  
  
"Captain?" Ajuta sounded alarmed. "Are you all right?"  
  
He stopped and hung his head, gasping for breath, waiting till the world came back into focus. Dari's hand was on his arm and he looked into her worried face. "I'm all right now," he assured her, and that was when a disjointed medley of questions began to clamour for his attention. The Pegasus had been lost; only a few crew members escaped. What had happened on that ship and how had it remained secret for the past dozen years? Was Sloan's intelligence outfit involved in the development of the cloaking device? What other horrific secrets had they covered up in the past? How many Starfleet officers were involved? How many of Sloan's people were supposedly working for Chakotay on Project Individuality? Was the Liberty really intended to fight the Borg? There hadn't been any recent reports of a Borg presence in the Alpha quadrant. Or - he remembered Janeway's predictions - was the Federation about to go to war with Cardassia? Was that the real purpose of the Liberty? Why had Dari dragged him down here to read the PADD? Was his office bugged?  
  
He stopped short. That was a disturbingly real possibility. And Sloan could be aware of any conversations Chakotay'd had with Ajuta in his office. Dari's life could be in danger, as could his own.  
  
He didn't know what to do. They couldn't hide from people with Sloan's connections. If he and Ajuta tried to run, he suspected they'd be quietly dealt with. An accident wouldn't be hard to arrange for two people working on an experimental ship. And as yet, they had no evidence linking Sloan to the hidden transmissions, let alone the illegal equipment. They couldn't go public.  
  
Perhaps the best course of action would be to continue as if nothing was wrong.  
  
Sloan would know that they were suspicious of him. They'd been in Chakotay's office when Ajuta had briefed him on her computer search for Sloan's records. But these hidden messages had never been mentioned inside the Utopia Planetia complex, so Sloan should still think they were in the dark. Chakotay took a last deep breath and motioned to Ajuta to start walking again.  
  
"Dari, I think you know what's at stake here. We're in a vulnerable position. Considering the circumstances, we can't take this to Starfleet Command yet - particularly as we don't know who might be working with Sloan." The very thought of the upper ranks being riddled with corruption made his skin crawl, but he forced it away and continued. "Let's go on as if we never found this message. If you find any more, decode them and bring them to me in person, but only in San Francisco. Sloan's watching my apartment and he's probably watching yours too, so be discreet. Other than that, it's business as usual, okay? Don't tip his hand."  
  
"Understood, Captain."  
  
"Good. Let's get back to the shipyard. If anyone asks where we've been, we decided on an informal setting for your regular crew evaluation."  
  
"How did I do?" she asked with a shadow of her trademark grin.  
  
He put a hand on her arm, turning her to face him. "Your performance has been exemplary," he said with gentle emphasis. "I'm recommending you for promotion to the rank of lieutenant commander."  
  
Her answering smile was the first good thing to happen to him that day.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Well, you were right."  
  
Chakotay looked up from his plate. "About what?"  
  
"My meeting with Nechayev."  
  
He dropped his fork with a clatter. "Kate, I'm so sorry, I forgot all about it. It's been a bad day. So what did she say?"  
  
There was no expression either in her face or her voice. "She informed me of my impending promotion to captain of the USS Whitehorse. Effectively immediately upon my return from compassionate leave."  
  
"That's great! Congratulations ..." He trailed off as she continued calmly eating her risotto. "You don't seem too enthusiastic about it."  
  
She placed her knife and fork precisely in the centre of her plate, picked up her water glass and sipped decorously before answering. "My first mission will be as diplomatic envoy to Cardassia Prime, where Admiral Nechayev hopes I will be able to encourage peace between our peoples. I will be expected to inform the Cardassian Military that the Federation is taking steps to curb the actions of the Maquis against their citizens, and to assure the Detapa Council of our continued hopes for diplomatic and trade negotiations between the Federation and the Cardassian Union." She met his gaze. "Now ask me why I'm not too enthusiastic."  
  
"I guess I don't need to." Chakotay steepled his fingers and watched her. "What did you tell her?"  
  
"I told her I'd think about it."  
  
"Practicing your diplomatic skills?"  
  
He detected the hidden depths of her anger as she answered. "If I'd said what I really wanted to, I'd have been kicked off the premises by a pair of her security thugs."  
  
"So what are you going to do?"  
  
She rose, taking their plates into the kitchen. "I haven't decided yet."  
  
"You're thinking about taking the mission?" He couldn't hide his surprise.  
  
"I'm thinking about resigning from Starfleet."  
  
"What?"  
  
She turned back to him and all the buried fury surged to the surface. "They've almost signed a peace treaty, Chakotay. The ceasefire is a joke, so they're proposing an alliance. And do you know what concessions they're willing to make? They're going to cede some of the Federation colonies in the DMZ to Cardassian control. They want to take people from their homes so the Cardassians can take control of their worlds. You want to know what else?" There was a disturbingly twisted smile on her face. "One of those worlds is the fifth planet in the Dorvan system."  
  
He could feel his blood cooling in his veins.  
  
She stalked closer and knelt before him, and her voice was softer now. "You once told me that your people spent close to two hundred years searching for the right planet to colonise. Now they're going to be told to up stakes and look for another one, because we won't stand up to a pack of bullies. How do you think they'll take that news, Chakotay? Do you think they'll quietly pack up and leave? I doubt it." She picked up his hands and held them between her own. "What do you suppose the Cardassians will do when your people won't get off that planet?"  
  
He wrenched away from her, scraping his chair back, feeling his heart constricting. He knew what his people would do. They would fight. And they would die.  
  
"Who told you about this treaty?" His voice was thick. He dared to hope it was just rumour-mongering or idle speculation.  
  
She dashed his hopes. "Admiral Nechayev told me."  
  
"Oh God." He sat down heavily, rubbing at his forehead. "And you're to be present at the signing?"  
  
"I'll slit my own throat before I stand by and watch the signing of that contemptible treaty," she said violently. She crossed the room swiftly and crouched beside him. "Chakotay, while I was at HQ today I ran into Commander Hudson. He told me there are a lot of officers protesting against the Cardassian incursions into the DMZ. A few have even resigned in protest at Starfleet's inaction. And some of those have joined the Maquis." She took his face in her hands and drew close, making sure he was listening to her. "This treaty is wrong, Chakotay. There are Starfleet officers willing to give up their careers because they know it's wrong. Many of them don't have family in the DMZ, as you do. All of them believe that standing by while Cardassians terrorise Federation citizens is unacceptable. And they won't accept it. Will you?"  
  
For a long time he could only stare at her. He tried to find words, but they wouldn't be found. And then, as he was searching her blue-grey eyes, they changed. Chakotay realised he was looking at her through a film of tears.  
  
"Oh, Tayo," she said softly, leaning forward into him. "I'm sorry. And you'd already had a bad day."  
  
He managed to chuckle, but it was a lukewarm effort. "I'd say this ranks close to being the worst day of my life."  
  
=/\=  
  
For both Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway, worse days were to come.  
  
Gretchen Janeway died, as she, her daughter and her doctors had predicted, before the week was out. At her funeral her two daughters behaved according to type, with Phoebe sobbing heart-rendingly while her elder sister's stoic composure never faltered. Afterwards, at their parents' Indiana farmhouse, Phoebe held the centre of attention, playing the gracious hostess, filling glasses and ferrying canapes. Chakotay made polite conversation with a Janeway cousin until Phoebe swooped down on him, handing him a tumbler of scotch.  
  
"Thanks," he said, surprised, "but I don't actually want a drink."  
  
"Oh, good," she answered, grabbing the glass back from him, "because I do." She drained it in one gulp. He grinned.  
  
"I've been practising," she said dryly, and he remembered a night at Phoebe's New York apartment several years ago, when he and Kathryn matched drinks with Phoebe's boyfriend. Phoebe had tried valiantly to keep up, but he suspected, and hoped for her sake, that memories of the night remained a mystery to her. For his part, he'd never look at her again without picturing her in a Trikakan ceremonial headdress and not a stitch else.  
  
"Have you seen Kathryn?" he asked hastily before he could start blushing.  
  
"Uh-uh." Phoebe was swiping her forefinger along the insides of the scotch glass and licking the drops from it. "Think she was in the kitchen a minute ago."  
  
"Let me get you another drink," Chakotay said, amused. He led her into the kitchen and found Owen Paris talking to a tall young man with tousled blond hair and blue, belligerent eyes. Arguing with him, actually, Chakotay realised as he caught the tension in both men's lowered voices. They broke off as Phoebe stomped over to them.  
  
"Are you two still at it?" She put her hands on her hips and glared, and Chakotay was overcome by the familiarity of the gesture. Phoebe cocked her head, just like Kathryn did, and challenged, "My mother would be turning in her grave to hear the two of you. She'd tell you to grow up, and so will I." She paused, then added, with great relish, "Grow up."  
  
To Chakotay's surprise, Owen's scowl melted into a chagrined smile, and the sun came out behind the younger man's stormy eyes. "That's better," said Phoebe with satisfaction.  
  
Chakotay muffled a snort behind his hand and looked over at Owen Paris, eyes dancing. "If the admiralty could see you now, sir," he said cheekily.  
  
"Tell them and I'll bust you down to ensign," retorted Paris.  
  
Phoebe had hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and was swinging her legs. "Chakotay, you said you'd make me a drink," she reminded him.  
  
"What would you like?" he asked politely.  
  
"Whatever. The stuff in that bottle up there with all the dust on it." She gestured to the cupboard above the young blond man's head. "Get that down for me, would you, Tom?"  
  
He reached up obligingly and turned the bottle in his hand, blowing away thick white dust to read the label, looking up at Phoebe in surprise. "Phoebe, this is a 2289 single-malt scotch. You can't drink it just because it's there. You have to savour the experience."  
  
There was a disgusted hah from the admiral. "You should know," he muttered.  
  
The blond man handed the bottle to Chakotay and walked out of the room without another word. Chakotay cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"And there you have it," Phoebe murmured, "another happy family."  
  
Chakotay felt slow-witted for not having realised the tall young man was Admiral Paris's son, and reportedly very much the black sheep. He felt a stirring of kinship; after all, he'd been the contrary in his own family.  
  
Phoebe stuck out her glass and looked at him pointedly. He wrestled the lid from the bottle and poured a finger into the bottom of the glass. She kept looking at him, so he tipped the bottle again. When she was satisfied she nodded and turned to Owen Paris. "Want one?" she invited.  
  
The admiral briefly wrestled with the hypocrisy of condemning his son for what he himself was longing to do, but his desire for the ancient scotch won out. He accepted the glass from Chakotay and held it to the light. Phoebe drained her glass in one hit and the admiral looked over reprovingly. "Phoebe, this scotch should be treated with respect, not gulped down like water."  
  
"Like father, like son," she retorted, and jumped off the bench. "We're looking for Katie. Have you seen her?"  
  
The admiral closed his eyes to enjoy the taste of the scotch on his tongue. "Ah," he said with great satisfaction. "Katie - yes, she was in here a few minutes ago. No idea where she went."  
  
"Thanks." Phoebe flipped him a wave and headed into the hallway, Chakotay trailing behind.  
  
"How long have you known Admiral Paris?" he asked, catching up to her.  
  
"Oh, forever, I suppose. My parents were always throwing parties for stuffy Starfleet types. Oops, sorry." She grinned up at him. "I hadn't seen Tom for eons until today, though. He was a bratty kid, and now he's a bratty adult. Mind you, with a father like that, who could blame him?" She paused. "I don't know why he came to the funeral today. They've been sniping at each other since they got here. The admiral's still pissed about his golden boy being kicked out of the fleet."  
  
Of course. Paris junior, Chakotay now recalled, had been a Starfleet cadet, and left the Academy in disgrace after some kind of disaster. Chakotay had been on a deep space mission when the scandal unfolded, and hadn't returned until after the dust had settled. Admiral Paris, unsurprisingly, had never spoken about it.  
  
They found Kathryn alone and curled into a window seat in her dead father's long-unused study. "I've brought your boyfriend," Phoebe told her. "If you need me, I'll be the one making a drunken spectacle of myself." She flipped them a wave and disappeared.  
  
Kathryn uncurled herself from the window seat. "You okay?" she asked.  
  
"Sure. I was just checking on you. Hadn't seen you for awhile." Chakotay reached for her.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "What, all of twenty minutes?"  
  
He stopped in the act of pulling her into his arms and backed away. "If I'm smothering you ..." Damn it, he thought suddenly, why am I always so off- balance around you, Kate? Chakotay never knew from one day to the next if, when he reached for her, she'd dance away or melt into his arms. But the times she didn't pull away were heaven.  
  
"What is it, Chakotay?"  
  
He realised he'd been staring at her and blinked. "Nothing. I ... never mind." She looked unconvinced, but he sent her a quick smile and stepped back. "I think most people are leaving, if you want to say goodbye."  
  
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, so he turned and led her from the room.  
  
They spent that night in Kathryn's teenage bedroom, though neither slept much. There were sooty circles beneath her eyes when she woke, and when Chakotay caught his own reflection he discovered he didn't look much better. Kathryn was on her third cup of coffee by the time Chakotay was dressed. He found her in the kitchen, viewing messages on her comm terminal. "Pause playback," she told the computer as he entered.  
  
"Anything interesting?" he asked.  
  
She turned the monitor to face him. "Computer, play message from time index 3.04."  
  
Admiral Nechayev's coolly pretty face blinked to life in the middle of a sentence. ~ . condolences on your loss.~ She paused. ~Commander, I apologise for the short notice, but the Whitehorse will soon be ready to leave for Cardassia, and as yet she doesn't have a captain. I will need to know your answer soon. Please contact me as soon as you can. Nechayev out.~  
  
"At least she had the grace to mention my mother's death first," Janeway said sarcastically.  
  
"So I guess you'll have to make a decision pretty quickly."  
  
"I guess so," she said.  
  
Chakotay had to take the transport back to Utopia Planetia, leaving the Janeway sisters to begin sorting out their mother's things. Phoebe was going to give up her apartment and live at the farmhouse, claiming she could paint and sculpt in Indiana just as well as she could in New York. "Besides," she pointed out as Chakotay kissed her goodbye, "this farm has been in my family for generations, and Katie isn't going to be the one to take it over. I'll be lucky if I ever see her again."  
  
"What do you mean?" The question came out more harshly than he'd intended.  
  
Phoebe gave him a strange look. "I mean she'll probably be off on some deep space mission, and even when she's on Earth she's got much better things to do than visit little old me." She faked a pout and Chakotay relaxed. "Don't worry, Chakotay," Phoebe continued mischievously. "She always seems to make the time to see you."  
  
"Ignore her," Kathryn advised, walking him to the door. She stretched on tiptoes and surprised him with the tenderness of her kiss. "I'll see you in a few days," she promised.  
  
=/\=  
  
Those few days were relatively uneventful for Chakotay. Lieutenant Ajuta found no more concealed messages in the transmissions from Starfleet Command, and Sloan's appearances were unobtrusive. Chakotay was in limbo. Work on the Liberty - at least, the official work - was proceeding apace, and the launch date was looming. Chakotay found himself working most closely with Lieutenant Tuvok. Back in November at Chakotay's initial briefing, Tuvok had estimated seventy-three days til the upgraded torpedo launchers were at peak efficiency. That this prediction was turning out to be quite correct came as no surprise either to the Vulcan or his commanding officer. Tuvok might be a spy, Chakotay mused, but as a weapons specialist his performance couldn't be faulted.  
  
As Tuvok demonstrated the latest weapons simulations, Chakotay found his mind wandering. This business with Sloan had made him so paranoid that he was second-guessing not only his crew, but himself. Not one of his four senior officers had ever given him any indication that they might be doing more than their jobs. He'd checked each of their service records and found nothing unusual. Tuvok hadn't even been in Starfleet for several decades of his life; after serving for a brief time eighty years ago, he had returned to Vulcan to study the kolinahr, and had only returned to Starfleet quite recently. Besides, weren't Vulcans supposed to be rigorously truthful? He couldn't imagine that a species with a distaste for dishonesty would make very good spies.  
  
Kathryn Janeway returned to San Francisco on the same day that Starfleet Command formally announced that the proposed peace treaty between the Federation and Cardassia had been drafted. To Chakotay's surprise, after she'd stashed her luggage at his apartment, she caught a transport to Utopia Planetia and showed up at his office. "Came to take you to lunch," she explained.  
  
They ate at a cafe in the old French district of Europa, the first colonised city on Mars. "How's Phoebe?" Chakotay asked when they'd ordered.  
  
"Irrepressible. She wants to build a pagoda at the back of the house. I forbade it, so she'll probably have it finished by the end of the week." Her mouth twisted wryly.  
  
Chakotay looked at her closely. "You seem in good spirits."  
  
"I suppose I am," she said with some surprise, feeling her way slowly through the words. "It's as though I've been in limbo these past months. I've been waiting for something to happen, and until it did I couldn't make any decisions or get on with my life." She raised her soup spoon to her mouth and sipped from it absently. "I don't mean my mother's dying was a good thing, but she was suffering, and it feels like closure. I can start moving forward now, without that dark cloud hanging over my head."  
  
"Sounds to me like you've made some decisions," Chakotay remarked, keeping his voice unemotional.  
  
"I think I have, yes," she answered. "But I want to talk to Nechayev before I do anything else."  
  
He changed the subject and they spent the rest of his lunch hour conversing on lighter topics, then transported back to the shipyard. "Care for a tour?" he asked her. She agreed enthusiastically and he led her to the docking port.  
  
The security measures were so familiar to him now that he'd almost forgotten about them, until he caught the look on Janeway's face as he guided her through them. Lieutenant B'Tenga, the security chief on duty, objected at first to Janeway's presence, claiming that as Admiral Paris hadn't authorised it he couldn't allow her onto the Liberty. But Chakotay talked his way through while Janeway wisely kept silent.  
  
"What was that all about?" she whispered as he led her into the anteroom. He kept silent as they were scanned for listening devices and waved through the access port to the ship. "New security precautions," he explained. "They were implemented just before I came back to the project. There's a lot of classified equipment on the Liberty, so I won't be able to show you Engineering. But I recommend we start with the bridge." He grinned as he gestured her into a turbolift. "Deck one."  
  
"I'm impressed," Janeway murmured as they entered the bridge, which was empty of staff. She strode down to the command level and indicated the captain's chair. "Sat in it yet?"  
  
"Every time I'm on the bridge," Chakotay grinned. "Want to try it out?"  
  
"Don't mind if I do," she smiled, and lowered herself into the chair with a satisfied sigh. "Nice fit," she remarked. "I could get used to this."  
  
He showed her the ready room, which was almost identical to any ready room on any Starfleet ship, then gave her a quick tour of the captain's quarters, the small cargo bay, the mess hall, and sickbay. "What, no holodecks? No captain's dining room?" she queried facetiously.  
  
"It was a choice between a holodeck and a warp core," he teased. "She's only a small ship."  
  
"But she looks like a fighter." Kathryn smiled at him. "You must be very proud."  
  
He was.  
  
When Chakotay returned to his apartment that night, Kathryn's bags were still in a neat pile by the door. Kathryn herself he found sprawled on his bed in blue jeans and a thick sweater, eyes closed dreamily, listening to Billie Holiday. He pulled off his jacket and turtleneck and sat on the edge of the bed. She curled round him, raising herself on one elbow, her oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.  
  
"Hey, you," she smiled. He traced a finger over her exposed shoulder and didn't reply.  
  
"Why so gloomy?"  
  
"You haven't unpacked," he said sadly. "Does that mean you're leaving?"  
  
The smile faded and she covered his hand with her own.  
  
"When?" he sighed.  
  
"Soon."  
  
Before he could turn away, she rose to her knees in front of him and slipped off her sweater. He watched as her untethered hair floated gently down her back and she reached for him, holding his face in her hands. "I'm not leaving tonight," she whispered.  
  
She wasn't wearing anything under the sweater. For several sweet moments Chakotay just let himself look at her, reveling in the unfamiliar indulgence. Kathryn wasn't a prude, but neither was she in the habit of shedding her clothes and walking around naked. And he saw her so rarely that he wanted this moment to imprint her on his memory's landscape forever.  
  
"Tayo," she said huskily, and he came out of the spell. He hooked one finger over the waistband of her jeans and pulled her toward him, rising to his knees so that their torsos were flush together, and through his Starfleet-issue undershirt he felt the warmth of her skin. She lifted her face to him and he kissed her, tracing her mouth with his tongue as she slid her arms round his neck and pressed herself into him.  
  
The first fingers of dawn had already slipped through the shutters when they finally lay still. Chakotay lay back and gathered her close. She buried her face in his throat, breathing him in.  
  
They had been quiet for some time when Chakotay spoke. "Kate."  
  
She raised her head, eyes drowsy with pleasure.  
  
"Don't disappear on me again, all right? Last time I saw you was three years ago. I don't want to go that long without seeing you again."  
  
The haze of delicious contentment left her eyes and they filled slowly with tears. Chakotay knew then that she couldn't make the promise he asked of her.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly.  
  
"I know."  
  
Two days later, Chakotay's world fell apart. 


	4. -part four-

August, 2371 - yesterday -  
  
After Janeway had briefed him on her abortive meeting with the First Minister, Chakotay was unsurprised when Gathorel contacted him the next morning. The obsequious smile never left Gathorel's face as he informed Chakotay that the council of ministers had voted not to accept Voyager's library in exchange for the Sikarian spatial trajector technology.  
  
~It does not give us pleasure to deny your request, Captain,~ Gathorel insisted. ~In fact, we have enjoyed your company to such a degree that we would like to invite you and your crew to remain on Sikaris, for as long as you wish it.~  
  
"That's very generous of you, First Minister," Chakotay replied. "But we're committed to getting home. However long it takes."  
  
~Surely it's not necessary for you to leave immediately?~  
  
"I'm afraid so. We're very grateful for your hospitality, but we have a long journey ahead of us. I'll be recalling my people from the surface over the next six hours and we'll leave orbit shortly afterward. Again, thank you, First Minister, and please extend our gratitude to the people of Sikaris." Chakotay closed the channel with relief. For all Sikaris' charms, he just couldn't take to its leader.  
  
He hadn't expected to speak to Gathorel again, so it was with some irritation that he received a comm from Harry Kim some hours later. ~I have a transmission from Sikaris for you, sir.~  
  
"Put it through to my ready room," he sighed.  
  
The unctuous smile was definitely gone this time. The First Minister's face was almost purple with fury. ~You will leave orbit immediately,~ he said without preamble.  
  
"First Minister," Chakotay said blankly. "Is there a problem?"  
  
~I have received reports that your crew attempted to illegally obtain a spatial trajector matrix,~ he barked. ~This is a most unpleasant situation. I do not wish to be a part of it. You will make whatever preparations you need to leave orbit within the next fifteen minutes. And Captain, you would be wise not to make contact with any Sikarian vessel you might encounter in future.~ The screen went as black as a slap in the face.  
  
Chakotay was on his feet and striding onto the bridge before he'd consciously realised it. "Report," he barked.  
  
At the Ops station, Harry Kim jumped. Tuvok rose serenely from the command chair. "All systems are nominal, Captain," he stated.  
  
"Are we ready to go? And where's Commander Janeway?"  
  
"We are awaiting Engineering's report," Tuvok replied, "and I am unaware of Commander Janeway's present location. However I believe she was one of the last crew members to return from the planet."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "Get her up here." He slapped his commbadge. "Chakotay to Engineering."  
  
There was a brief pause, then: ~Torres here, sir.~  
  
"B'Elanna, what's the status of the engines?"  
  
~I'm just bringing them online now, sir.~  
  
"We've been ordered to leave orbit. Get them ready as soon as you can and report to me when it's done."  
  
~Aye sir.~ Was he imagining it, or did she sound a little panicked?  
  
He paced the bridge, making Kim even more nervous, and finally grew too impatient to wait any longer. Tapping his commbadge again, he snapped, "Torres, what's taking so long?"  
  
~I discovered a, uh, slight phase variance in the warp field. We can't go to warp until I've corrected it.~  
  
She definitely sounded anxious. "How soon will that be?" Chakotay demanded.  
  
~Just a couple of minutes, sir. It's a simple procedure. I'll contact you the moment it's done. Torres out.~  
  
Chakotay turned back to his chair and realised something was missing. "Computer, location of Commander Janeway."  
  
~Commander Janeway is in Engineering.~  
  
He turned to Tuvok in irritation, but the Vulcan forestalled him. "I contacted the Commander, and she did inform me she was on her way. Perhaps she learned of the problems in Engineering and went to assist Lieutenant Torres."  
  
Before Chakotay could respond the comm system beeped. ~Torres to bridge. All systems are ready for departure.~  
  
"Acknowledged. Lieutenant Paris, get us out of here."  
  
The ship's hum gave that slight change in pitch as the warp engines engaged, and then all hell broke loose. The hum became a whine, and then a screech. Crewmen were thrown from their stations as the ship bucked wildly. On the viewscreen, when Chakotay could drag himself upright to see it, the stars became streaks, and then splashes, and then one giant flower of light, and the air seemed to press on his lungs, and as shockingly as it had started, the tornado stopped.  
  
Consoles blew sparks all over the darkened bridge as crew members picked themselves up from the floor. Chakotay could tell several systems were down without even checking reports. But at least the ship was in one piece. He hoped.  
  
"Engineering, report."  
  
Miraculously, the comm system was online. He expected B'Elanna to answer. But the voice returning his hail was Kathryn Janeway's.  
  
~The warp core is offline but stable, Captain.~ Her voice was a little hoarser than usual, but relatively composed. ~We took damage to the warp and impulse engines, the plasma manifolds are badly damaged and the structural integrity field is at eighty-nine percent. Permission to remain here to assist B'Elanna with repairs?~  
  
"Granted."  
  
~And, sir?~ Now there was a quiver in her voice. Had she been hurt?  
  
~Lieutenant Torres and I request to speak with you as soon as possible. We have an explanation for - for what just happened.~  
  
Chakotay's heart dropped. Oh Kate ... what have you done?  
  
"Understood, Commander," he said tiredly. "Chakotay out."  
  
Reports were called out to him as he closed the channel. Shields were offline. Helm controls were unreliable. Transporters were down. Secondary systems were badly damaged. Several crewmen were injured, one now in critical condition. But communications were functioning and the hull was intact. And then Harry Kim squawked.  
  
"Ensign?"  
  
"Captain, if these readings are right, we've just travelled thirteen thousand light years in a matter of minutes!"  
  
Chakotay leapt to the Ops station. The figures danced before his eyes for a moment and he felt a sharp pain in his head, and made a mental note to get to sickbay. Some time. The Ops display cleared and he realised Kim's calculations were right. They had just been flung thirteen thousand light years from Sikaris.  
  
"And in the right direction, too," he breathed. He strode across the bridge and into his ready room, tapping his commbadge as the doors closed behind him. "Chakotay to Janeway. Commander, I want to see you and Lieutenant Torres in the briefing room immediately. I'm calling all the senior staff in. There'll be no time for anything but the facts, so you'll have to save the explanations for later. And you will give me an explanation later. All right?"  
  
~Yes, Captain. We're on our way.~  
  
He headed back onto the bridge. "Tuvok, get your second in charge to assign crews for clean-up, damage assessment and repair duty. Paris, check if the Doctor needs any help and send Ensign Seska to assist him if he does, then let him know we'll brief him in thirty minutes. Kim, I want every report you can get on what just happened to us. Then, all three of you join me in the conference room. Commander Janeway and Lieutenant Torres claim to have an interesting story to tell."  
  
They did. Torres had barged into Janeway's quarters at 0600 that morning, troubled over the rollercoaster fortunes of the past two days, at having the promise of home dangled so tantalisingly and then so cruelly whisked away. Whatever conversation had passed between them went unrepeated at the meeting, but the outcome was that Janeway transported down to Sikaris to exchange Voyager's literary database for the spatial trajector matrix, and upon her return to the ship, she and Torres had installed it in Engineering. Quickly studying it, they had discovered that it drew on a power source beneath the crust of Sikaris, and that Voyager didn't have the resources to generate the power required to activate the matrix. They would have to do it before they left orbit. So when the captain gave the order to depart, they activated the spatial trajector.  
  
And discovered that the trajector was incompatible with Federation technology when the ship nearly tore itself apart.  
  
Unable to disengage the device, they resorted to phasering it. When it was destroyed the ship came to rest.  
  
"I will be discussing this matter with the commander and the lieutenant later," Chakotay said shortly, into the silence after Janeway's speech. "The important thing right now is to repair the ship. We're particularly vulnerable right now," he paused, and allowed a smile to touch his lips, "because we're in completely unfamiliar space. This little experiment had an unexpected benefit. We've confirmed that our present location is approximately 12,900 light years closer to the Alpha quadrant."  
  
Paris and Kim, who already knew, had burst into whoops before he'd finished speaking. He watched the faces of the two women. Janeway's mouth curved in a bittersweet smile, and tears stood in Torres' eyes. He spoke up before Paris could burst into song. "As I said, repairs come first. We can celebrate later. You all know what to do. Dismissed."  
  
He could feel Kathryn's gaze on him as he turned from the room without another glance.  
  
  
  
August, 2371 - today -  
  
Two Maquis women in Starfleet uniform stood at attention in the captain's ready room.  
  
Chakotay placed the PADD carefully on his desk and rose to face them. He gestured to the PADD. "Lieutenant Carey's engineering report." He looked straight at B'Elanna Torres. "Your little escapade damaged almost every major system on this ship. Carey estimates eight days of double shifts until we're back in acceptable condition."  
  
Torres could barely look at him. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean for any of this -"  
  
"Lieutenant, I haven't finished speaking."  
  
Torres shut up.  
  
"You are relieved of duty and confined to quarters for the next two days. It might be prudent for you to spend at least some of that time familiarising yourself with the Starfleet charter."  
  
"Yes, sir," Torres whispered.  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
She turned, head bowed, and made blindly for the door.  
  
"B'Elanna."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Chakotay's eyes had softened. "I know this - joining Voyager - hasn't been an easy ride for you. And despite recent events, I've never regretted making you chief engineer. But if you ever pull anything like this again, I'll replace you so fast your head will spin." He paused. "I have a lot of faith in you, B'Elanna. Don't let me down."  
  
"Thank you, sir," she whispered, and quick-stepped out of the ready room.  
  
Janeway spoke through stiff lips. "Torres should be working on repairs, not sitting around in quarters."  
  
"And she knows that as well as you and I do," Chakotay said coldly. "She'll go stir-crazy doing nothing while Carey takes over her job. I want to give her ample time to reflect on her actions."  
  
"And slow down our repairs?"  
  
Chakotay stepped into her personal space. "You should have thought of that before you integrated untested alien technology into our systems, Commander."  
  
She looked away. "Yes, sir."  
  
He was still right in her face. "And to give you time to reflect on that, you're relieved of duty and confined to quarters as well. For three days."  
  
"What?"  
  
"When your time has been served, you'll join an engineering repair crew and start cleaning up some of the mess you made." He moved back to his desk, picking up the PADD and scrolling through it. "Purging the plasma port injectors and repairing the gravity plating on Deck 10 should keep you busy for a while."  
  
"You're suspending your executive officer?"  
  
Chakotay slapped the PADD down on his desk. "I can hardly relieve Torres of duty and let you get off scot-free, Commander."  
  
"I don't believe this," she hissed. "I got us thirteen years closer to Federation space and you're putting me in the brig?"  
  
"No, I'm confining you to quarters. But if I hear one more protest out of you, Kathryn, you will be in the brig."  
  
Shaking with fury, she turned sharply toward the door.  
  
"I haven't dismissed you yet."  
  
She halted, then turned slowly to face him. Chakotay almost quailed from the look in her eyes.  
  
"Just tell me one thing," he said, more calmly now. "I'd made my decision not to make the trade with Jaret Otel. Yet you took it upon yourself to disobey orders and acquire the spatial trajector yourself. Why did you do it?"  
  
She was silent for a long time, so long he almost repeated the question. Then, with an obvious struggle for composure, she answered, "I did it to get us closer to home. I did it for this crew. And I did it for you. Because I knew you couldn't do it."  
  
"Explain."  
  
She shifted her feet. "You won't like it."  
  
"Try me."  
  
"All right." Janeway turned to gaze out the viewport at the unfamiliar stars.  
  
"When I joined the Maquis," she began, in an apparent non-sequitur, "it wasn't an easy decision to make. I was violating my oath as a Starfleet officer, turning my back on the Federation and everything it stood for, cutting my ties to family and friends, and increasing the chance that the Federation and Cardassia would go to war again. And yet people were dying in the DMZ, and I couldn't, in all conscience, stand by and watch it happen. I wrestled with the moral and ethical issues for some time before I came to the conclusion that the needs of the many don't always outweigh the needs of the few." She sighed. "Once I'd made my decision, it seemed ... easier ... to follow it up with actions I'd previously never have considered. Like stealing the Liberty."  
  
Chakotay smiled without humour. "Go on."  
  
"Making that trade with Jaret Otel isn't something a Starfleet officer would consider ethical," she said, choosing her words carefully. "But I've done worse things, and though I'm not proud of them, I considered them justified. A few sleepless nights and a little less self-respect were a small price to pay for saving innocent lives. And considering how dangerous this quadrant has already proven to be, who knows how many lives have been saved by cutting a dozen or so years off our journey home?"  
  
"I see."  
  
"But you've made it clear from the first day of this journey that you refuse to compromise on the rules," she continued. "I know you, Chakotay. If you couldn't leave Starfleet and join the Maquis after what the Cardassians did to your people, it must have been because your principles wouldn't allow it. So it seemed better all around that I go ahead with that trade. I'd procure the spatial trajector, we'd get closer to home, and your conscience would be clear." She shrugged. "Perhaps one day you'll understand."  
  
Chakotay sat down hard on the edge of his desk.  
  
"Christ, Kate," he said finally, and she couldn't quite read his tone. She waited.  
  
Finally he looked up and stared her straight in the eye. "You're my first officer, and I need to be able to trust you implicitly," he said evenly. "If I can't trust you, this won't work. I'll have to replace you, probably with Tuvok. The former Maquis on this ship will rebel, and before we know it, we'll have a power struggle on our hands. And we might just end up with a ship full of corpses."  
  
She'd shown him her soul, and he'd thrown it back in her face. She hid her shaking hands behind her back.  
  
"I don't ever want you to do anything like this again. It's not fair, and it's not right." Chakotay rubbed at his forehead. "I want you to think about this, Kathryn. Think about it very, very carefully." He stood, and she saw that despite the evenness of his tone, his fists were clenched.  
  
"Now please," he said, "get out of my sight."  
  
  
  
February, 2370 - eighteen months ago -  
  
In the space of forty-eight hours, Captain Chakotay's life was changed tragically and irrevocably.  
  
When the news broke of the attack on Dorvan V, the initial reports seemed wildly exaggerated, the fevered embellishments of some excitable colonist. But each transmission from the DMZ brought more information, the toll of death and destruction rising each time.  
  
Chakotay's people lay slaughtered on the wreck of their planet, victims of a vicious Cardassian attack. A Cardassian Gul, incensed by the Dorvan colonists' continued refusal to vacate the planet, had ordered its entire surface bombarded by thermalite weapons. Every living thing was incinerated, every building devastated in a firestorm so superheated that the first sensor images showed strange twisted sculptures of glass where stone dwellings had been, and the planet's surface still smoked where trees, grass and topsoil had been scorched away.  
  
There were no survivors of the holocaust, bar a few dozen lucky ones who'd been offworld at the time. Everyone else had been killed, including Chakotay's entire family: mother, father, sisters, cousins. All of them dead.  
  
It was so big that his mind refused to cope. He knew it was there - all the anger and grief and regret and, yes, hatred - but when he tried to face it, to accept it so he could start to work through it, his mind shied away. He went about his duties in a daze, absently approving status reports and arranging meetings and viewing simulations. His emotions were frozen; nothing could touch him. Not even the loss of the Liberty.  
  
The news of Dorvan's destruction had reached Earth in the early afternoon. That evening, Chakotay was called to HQ for a briefing on the incident and sequestered with a gaggle of admirals for the rest of the evening. After the abject horror of those reports he was almost relieved when, close to midnight, Lieutenant Ajuta commed him, interrupting the briefing, to inform him that the Liberty was gone.  
  
Ajuta was wringing her hands, apologetic to the point of tears, by the time Chakotay materialised on Utopia Planetia. Instinctively he glanced out the viewport, and the absence of the Liberty's sleek white contours was rawly shocking. "What happened?"  
  
He could tell she was struggling with conflicting priorities: she had obviously heard about Dorvan, despite Starfleet's hasty attempt to curb the reports until the facts were ascertained, and the empathy in her green eyes caused a hollow surge in his gut. "The Liberty," he prompted, more harshly than he'd intended.  
  
"We're not sure, sir," she said quickly. "The alarm went out twenty minutes ago. Lieutenant B'Tenga was on station patrol and discovered the ship was missing at 2337 hours. We've been running reports, and it looks like somebody blocked external sensors and communications throughout the shipyard. We can't yet explain how the ship was removed, or why the planetary sensors didn't record anything, and as yet we haven't been able to track where the Liberty might have been taken." She looked heartsick.  
  
By next morning, the rest of Chakotay's senior staff had arrived, with the exception of Kochi Savot, whose whereabouts were unknown. Admiral Paris huffed and roared his way through the briefing while Sloan silently occupied a corner of the room. His was the only composed face in a roomful of anxiety.  
  
The briefing over, they filed from the conference room and Chakotay led Paris and Sloan into his office. Dizzy from lack of sleep and still shell- shocked from the events of the past twenty-four hours, Chakotay was on the verge of fading out when Sloan's voice cut through the haze in his mind. "Captain, it appears we do have a lead on the Liberty's disappearance. May I ask when you last had contact with Commander Kathryn Janeway?"  
  
"What's she got to do with this?" Chakotay blurted, but before he'd finished speaking he saw Owen Paris' blue eyes widen and his face turn grey with shock. His own expression must mirror Paris', he thought.  
  
"Please answer the question, Captain."  
  
"I saw her this morning - I mean, yesterday morning. About 0730 in my apartment, before I left for work." Chakotay shook his head, disoriented: it could have been an hour or a week since he'd heard about Dorvan V.  
  
"And you haven't communicated with her in any way since that time?"  
  
He shook his head and waited for the blow to fall.  
  
Sloan crossed one leg neatly over the other and steepled his hands before him. "I have reason to believe that Commander Janeway is responsible for the theft of the Liberty. And that she may have had help from Lieutenant Commander Savot. Captain, I expect you remember meeting this gentleman?" Sloan held out a PADD which displayed a portrait of a Betazoid man.  
  
"That's Jokim Brill," Chakotay said slowly, studying the PADD. "I met him at the Galileo memorial reception about two months ago. He was representing one of the Federation colony worlds in the demilitarised zone."  
  
"Indeed," Sloan said dryly. "He's also the cousin of Commander Savot, and reportedly a Maquis. Your little redheaded friend has been seen several times in the company of both men over the past few weeks. I don't think it takes a great leap of the imagination to postulate that the three of them conspired to hijack the Liberty and defect with it to the Maquis, do you?" He tutted. "Still, Captain, rather cold on her part, isn't it? Sleeping in your bed, and then stealing your ship from right under your nose -"  
  
Chakotay was never sure what happened next. One moment Sloan was sitting there taunting him, and the next, the smaller man was gingerly picking himself up from a crumpled heap on the opposite side of the room. Sloan stood, dabbing one finger to the corner of his mouth; it came away bloody. "I must be getting slow," he murmured. "You have a mean left jab, Captain."  
  
Owen Paris swiftly interposed himself between the two men, but the fight had already drained out of Chakotay. Knocking Sloan off his feet was something he'd been longing to do since the day they'd met, yet it brought him no satisfaction. He dropped carelessly into a chair.  
  
One week earlier he'd discovered plans to install illegal equipment into his starship, and learned that the Federation was on the verge of signing a damaging peace treaty with the Cardassian Union. At the time, he'd thought that was the worst day of his life. It had been sunshine and roses compared to today.  
  
=/\=  
  
"Kate, I'm home -" Chakotay began, and abruptly stopped speaking. How could he have forgotten? Kate wasn't here. Kate had stolen his ship and stomped on his heart. The exhaustion he'd held at bay for the past forty hours seemed to drag on his shoulders. He shrugged off his jacket, throwing it in the direction of the kitchen table, grabbed a bottle of gin on his way to the sofa and dropped onto it heavily. Before he could so much as pour himself a glass, he was asleep.  
  
The nightmare continued when he woke after a restless four hours. He showered, dressed in his uniform, and dragged himself into his study. His monitor was flashing, telling him there were three messages waiting. "Play," he ordered.  
  
All three were from Dari Ajuta. In the first, she was pale but composed, asking to see him urgently. In the second, an hour later, she looked ruffled and distressed, begging him to contact her. The third was the most disturbing of all.  
  
~Captain, I need your help,~ she almost whispered. ~I've discovered something you really need to see. I'm sending it to you, but it's highly encrypted. You know the encryption algorithms. Please call me as soon as you get this.~ She paused, and her next words struck dread into Chakotay's heart. She seemed to lean in closer, her Trill markings violently dark against the pallor of her skin. ~ I'm scared,~ she whispered. ~Please help me.~ Then the transmission ended.  
  
He tried to comm her but received no answer. Fear enveloped him. Bolting from his apartment, he was at her Market Street home in twenty minutes.  
  
Two Starfleet security officers, one male, one female, flanked the front door. Chakotay slowed to a walk as he approached, heart hammering more from a sense of foreboding than from running to get there. "Ensign," he addressed the woman. "What's happening here?"  
  
"There's been a death in the building, sir. A young woman. By the time the med team got here it was too late to revive her."  
  
"Her name," Chakotay croaked. "Tell me her name."  
  
The ensign consulted a PADD. "A Lieutenant Dari Ajuta, sir."  
  
He could hear her calling to him as he stumbled away, but he didn't turn around. Dari was dead. A scant hour after she'd told him she was afraid for her life, she was dead. And the one thing he was certain of was that it was all his fault.  
  
Chakotay could hardly bear to replay her final message. But she'd said she had something he needed to see, and then she'd been killed because of what she knew. The very least he owed her was justice, and to get that he'd have to know what she knew. He got to work decrypting the message attachment.  
  
Thirty minutes later he was hanging over the bowl of the toilet retching painfully. The decoded message was another of the secret transmissions meant, he now fully believed, for Sloan. And this one, if it was possible, was worse than the previous two.  
  
This time, there wasn't a mention of the Romulan chroniton torpedoes, or the Starfleet-developed phased cloaking device, or even the Liberty. This transmission appeared to be a rundown of covert communications between Sloan's cohorts and the Obsidian Order, Cardassia's independent intelligence outfit. An arrangement had been made. In exchange for intelligence on Cardassian weapon development, military strategies and covert operations, Sloan's group would refrain from stopping Cardassia from attacking the Federation colonies in the DMZ. In fact, it was worse than that. Certain solar systems in the zone were identified as 'low-risk' to Federation interests and therefore expendable. The Cardassian military had all but carte-blanche to do as they wished with them. One of these was the Dorvan system.  
  
That was when Chakotay had bolted to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach. Now, leaning his head against the cold porcelain, for the first time in his life he wondered if it was worth going on. Dari was dead, and he'd shoulder that blame forever. His people were dead, their lives callously wiped out, thanks to an underhanded deal between the Obsidian Order and this secret Federation intelligence agency. And now that he knew, Sloan would no doubt kill him anyway. Why not get the job done himself?  
  
Because he'd vowed to seek justice.  
  
Not just for Dari Ajuta, he realised slowly. Not just for himself, or his slaughtered, innocent people. For the Federation. He was going to gather every scrap, every hint of information he could find about this covert organisation and he was going to expose every lie, every murder, every sly, filthy deal they'd ever made. They had desecrated everything he held dear, and he'd be damned if he let them get away with it.  
  
There was a chime at the door.  
  
He knew who it was before he opened it, and he wasn't wrong. "Good evening, Captain," said Sloan as he stepped into the room. "You don't look well at all."  
  
Chakotay sprang, but before he'd moved a metre he found himself flat on his back with Sloan's boot against his throat. "Nice try, but that time I was expecting it." Sloan reached down and pulled him up. "Now that that's over with, shall we begin our discussion in a civilised manner?"  
  
Studying him, Chakotay forced down the ugly boiling rage and nodded.  
  
"Good. I presume you've already read the transmission Lieutenant Ajuta so kindly sent you this evening?" He went on without waiting for a response, sitting calmly on the sofa with one arm outstretched along its back. "Quite interesting reading, I'm sure. As were the previous two."  
  
"You knew we'd found them?"  
  
"Captain, do you really think me so unprofessional? I had surveillance devices installed in your apartment, of course. I've known all along about your little investigation."  
  
Chakotay looked around the room wildly, as though he'd be able to see the devices. "You killed Dari Ajuta," he said angrily. "You set her up, and then you killed her."  
  
Sloan made a moue of distaste. "Well, I didn't kill her personally, of course. Shame, really. The young lieutenant - oh, I'm sorry, you were going to promote her to lieutenant commander, weren't you? That would have been such a proud day for Dari -"  
  
"How did you know that?" Chakotay managed faintly. He and Ajuta had had that discussion on Mars, far from prying eyes and listening ears.  
  
"I had her bugged as well. As I was saying, Captain, she had a great deal of potential. Quite an extraordinary hacker, but depressingly uncorruptible." He looked back into Chakotay's eyes, and all the mockery was suddenly gone. It was as though a chill had permeated the airconditioned room, and the frost in the air came from Sloan's pale blue gaze.  
  
"Yes," Sloan continued, his tone still deceptively light, "unfortunately, Lieutenant Ajuta was as uncorruptible as a raw cadet. But you, Captain ..."  
  
Chakotay was a deer in headlights.  
  
"You, Captain, aren't quite so naive, are you?"  
  
A long look passed between them and finally Chakotay found he could speak.  
  
"Are you going to kill me, Sloan?" he asked, his voice rasping.  
  
"No, Captain, not at all." Sloan smiled wolfishly. "I'm not going to kill you. I'd much rather recruit you."  
  
Chakotay lowered himself into an armchair. "You must be joking," he said feebly.  
  
"I never joke," Sloan replied. "We need people like you, Captain. You're a highly trained officer with skills we would find very useful. Let me explain."  
  
And then Sloan embarked on a tale so mind-blowing that Chakotay found himself listening raptly to every word.  
  
"We call ourselves Section 31," Sloan began, noting Chakotay's look of comprehension. "I see you've heard of us, or at least the section of the Starfleet Charter from which we take our name. Our origins date back to the Federation's very beginnings. It was suggested, at that time, that there may come occasions when the ideals that Federation citizens choose to live by could threaten the security, the very existence, of the Federation itself. In anticipation of such times, Section 31 was created as an autonomous body with nonspecific discretionary powers over nonspecific Starfleet matters. To do the jobs that Starfleet can't, in other words."  
  
He got up and walked over to the replicator, ordering himself a glass of water without so much as asking Chakotay first. "Naturally, we like to keep abreast of current events. It's important to know what's going on in the galaxy these days, so that we can take steps to ensure the security of the Federation isn't compromised. I'm sure you'll agree that our intelligence- gathering abilities are quite impressive." Sloan returned to the sofa, crossing his legs. Chakotay watched his every move as a small animal watches a predator.  
  
"That transmission you received today tells only part of the story, Captain. You're familiar with the Bajoran-Idran wormhole, of course? Well, knowing what you now know about Section 31, you won't be surprised to hear that since its discovery we've had operatives scouting the Gamma quadrant. Oh, we're not concerned with stellar phenomena or discovering new worlds; we leave that to you Starfleet types. What we are concerned with, as I've already stated, is potential security risks. And I'm sad to say that we've found one." Sloan paused for a sip of water. "In your correspondence with Commander Sisko on Deep Space Nine, has he ever mentioned the Dominion?"  
  
Chakotay shook his head.  
  
"Hardly surprising, really; as far as he's concerned, the Dominion is just a nasty rumour. The good people on DS9 have had contact with one or two species bearing tales of a powerful empire which controls a good part of the Gamma quadrant, but the stories they've heard are rife with speculation. We know better. We've travelled farther through that quadrant than any Starfleet exploratory ship, and what we've found is very disturbing. The Dominion does exist, and the threat it poses is considerable. We haven't fully mapped its borders, nor has any Section operative made personal contact with the race which controls the empire. But we have encountered a species known as the Jem'Hadar, a warrior race bred solely to serve the Dominion. They're killing machines, Captain. Even a Klingon might turn and flee from a Jem'Hadar patrol ship."  
  
Again Sloan paused. "Are you comfortable, Captain? Do you need anything?"  
  
"Just get on with it, Sloan," Chakotay growled.  
  
"As you wish. Section 31 has studied the Dominion very carefully, and we believe their interest in the Bajoran wormhole will increase as trade and traffic flow increases. Sooner or later they'll want to find out what's on our side of that wormhole, and when they do, they're going to want to take it from us. However, the combined forces of the major Alpha quadrant powers would be more than a match for the Dominion, and so we've speculated that they'll attempt to form an alliance with one or more of us. The Romulans are a possibility, but they prefer to tug our strings from a distance, and in any case, their empire isn't close enough to the wormhole. The Federation and the Klingon Empire are highly unlikely to become involved in such an alliance, particularly once they learn what Section 31 already knows. That leaves the Cardassians. They have the motive - an increase of their power base - and location-wise, they're in the perfect position. Don't be surprised, Captain, if we go to war against Cardassia in the near future. It's in the cards in spite of this proposed peace treaty. But the Cardassian Union, arrogant as its people may be, is unlikely to initiate a war without the backing of an empire as powerful as the Dominion."  
  
Chakotay realised his hands were shaking.  
  
"Section 31 has established relations with the Obsidian Order for a number of reasons, Captain. One is to obtain intelligence, of course. Another is to attempt to smooth interaction between our two peoples in the hopes of preventing a devastating war, or if that attempt fails, to sabotage Cardassia's chances of joining with the Dominion, if at all possible. In the interests of saving billions of lives, some must, unfortunately, be sacrificed."  
  
"That's where the Maquis come into it," Chakotay realised.  
  
Sloan was nodding, smiling. "I'm looking at the big picture here, Captain. The Maquis are a nuisance, but we can turn that nuisance into a bargaining chip. We let the Cardassians take potshots at a few little settlements in the DMZ and in return, they pass us valuable information, and refrain from taking their attacks into Federation space. Oh, don't look so horrified, Captain. As the Vulcans say, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." He sighed. "The incident at Dorvan V was regrettable. A Gul got trigger-happy. He's already been dealt with."  
  
"How many does it take, Sloan?" Chakotay began quietly. "How many does it take before a regrettable incident becomes an act of war? How many people have to die before you stop looking the other way?"  
  
"We could philosophise all night on that one, Captain, but I'd rather get to the point."  
  
"You do that." He was barely restraining himself from leaping from his chair and choking the life out of the man in black.  
  
"I'm sure you're wondering what all this has to do with you. Well, really, it was only the Liberty we were interested in to start with. Yes, she was originally designed to fight the Borg, but Section 31 realised she could be very useful in other ways. With a few modifications, she'd be the perfect ship for scouting missions into the Gamma quadrant."  
  
"That's why you were installing the cloaking device. To enter Dominion space without being detected."  
  
Sloan inclined his head. "The Romulan torpedoes were a bonus we discovered on a recent surveillance mission and decided to adopt. They'll be useful should we be detected by a Jem'Hadar patrol. Of course, they'll have to be installed in the Liberty's successor, unless we get her back."  
  
"Which is why you want me," Chakotay realised.  
  
"You know Commander Janeway better than anyone, Captain. That makes you the perfect choice to track her down."  
  
"I had no idea she was planning to steal the ship," Chakotay said tersely. "It appears I don't know her as well as you seem to think."  
  
"You've served with her; you're familiar with her preferred tactics. And your, er, personal association does also give you a certain edge."  
  
He hated having to ask, but ... "How did she do it?"  
  
"How did she make off with your pride and joy? Oh, it was quite clever, really. Commander Savot was her inside man. He arranged to block external sensors and communications from Utopia Planetia, and set up a controlled overload of the planetary detection grid just long enough to conceal their actions from the Mars control centre. Commander Janeway obtained the security access codes from your very own computer, as you'll no doubt discover for yourself. Mr Brill was responsible for providing an escape route. He used a Bolian transport ship to ferry the Liberty from the area, setting up a dampening field within the transport ship's cargo hold to hide the Liberty's signature. They changed transport freighters twice en route to the Badlands to avoid detection. The trace goes cold there, thanks to the plasma storms in that region. We expect they're hiding in the Terikof Belt, a group of planetoids in the centre of the Badlands, but we haven't pinpointed their exact location."  
  
"Why not? Don't tell me Section 31 can't penetrate the Maquis." Chakotay felt a savage twist of pleasure as the first sign of irritation crossed Sloan's face.  
  
"That's not your concern, Captain. What you should be concerned about is your excessive trust in Commander Janeway, which resulted in such a serious security breach. I expect you'll be hearing from Starfleet Command about it in the morning. Don't worry, Captain, you won't be implicated in the theft. We've seen to that."  
  
"Thank you," he said with heavy sarcasm.  
  
"Don't mention it. Now, Captain, I expect you'll be wanting to take some time off once the fuss dies down. You'll probably want to visit Dorvan V, say a prayer over the graves of your people, or whatever it is you do when loved ones pass on. While you're in the DMZ, your task will be to gather any information possible on Maquis movements, and Janeway's in particular. Take no action until you hear from me. Do you understand?"  
  
A thousand retorts raced through Chakotay's mind. This man wanted him to become part of a covert agency whose very existence made his skin crawl. He wanted Chakotay to put aside his grief and anger over the Dorvan massacre and embark on a spying mission. He wanted Chakotay to hunt down the woman he loved beyond reason and bring her back to ... what? To be imprisoned? Chakotay doubted it. To be killed. If he caught her, Kathryn would die.  
  
No.  
  
But what if he refused? Then he'd be killed and someone else sent after Kathryn in his place. Someone who'd have no such compunctions. And Section 31 would continue to exist. He couldn't allow that to happen. He turned to Sloan.  
  
"I understand."  
  
Sloan smiled.  
  
=/\=  
  
As predicted, Chakotay was cleared of any wrongdoing in the official investigation into the theft of the Liberty. Admiral Paris had vouched for him. Chakotay's gratitude was quickly superseded by suspicion. Was Admiral Paris part of Section 31?  
  
He was granted use of a Starfleet shuttlecraft and arrived in orbit of Dorvan two weeks after the investigation concluded. Transporting to the surface, the first thing that struck him was the silence. Where before there had been a bustling village square, there was now a blind and twisted wreck of ash and mottled glass. A breeze curled round the ruins of the village, stirring dust and ash at Chakotay's feet. He could almost hear the screams he knew they'd never have had time to utter.  
  
He flew to Trakis II, a colony world just inside Federation space, and made enquiries about the Dorvan attack, hoping to track down the survivors. To his surprise, most people he asked replied quite openly that most of the Dorvan survivors had likely joined the Maquis. But when he casually asked how he might go about finding them, he got shrugs and smiles in response.  
  
What if he pretended he wanted to join the Maquis himself? In an honest moment, Chakotay understood that it would only be half pretense. The hollow wreck of his homeworld had stabbed him to his core, and now he was functioning on autopilot, torn and conflicted. He burned to avenge his people, to take revenge on the Cardassian soldiers who'd murdered them, and if he couldn't find the men who'd done this, then others of their race would do. And it was that very driving urge, the urge to kill and not stop killing till Cardassian blood was spilt for every woman, man and child who'd died on Dorvan, which brought him up short each time he contemplated joining the Maquis for real.  
  
If he did that, he'd be no better than Sloan, for whom life had no value.  
  
Eventually he gave up and headed to Deep Space Nine. He mooched around the Promenade for a few days, annoying Quark and perplexing Odo, before Benjamin Sisko took matters into his own hands one night, plying Chakotay with Bajoran spring wine and carefully inducing him to talk until his voice was raw. About death, and betrayal, and duty and love. But not about secrets. As drunk as he got, Chakotay still had the sense to keep silent about Sloan and Section 31.  
  
To his mild surprise, Sloan wasn't disappointed in his skimpy report when he finally returned to Earth. "No matter, Captain," Sloan said easily. "The situation is under control."  
  
Chakotay requested command of a ship, but the Starfleet counselor assigned to him recommended lighter duties for a short period, as well as continued counseling sessions, at least once a week. So Chakotay asked to be assigned to the new Maquis task force run by Starfleet Intelligence, and as luck would have it, no starship command came available for almost a year.  
  
And then he was assigned to the USS Voyager.  
  
  
  
January, 2371 - eight months ago -  
  
Admiral Paris had assigned Lieutenant Tuvok to Chakotay's investigative team only a few weeks after Chakotay had requested the assignment. "The man's a tactical officer, not a secret agent, but he's worked for Starfleet Intel in the past, and I think he's the right man for the job," Paris had told him firmly. "We'll be sending him undercover when he's been through covert operations training. Katie never met him while she was here, he knows the Liberty, and besides, everybody trusts a Vulcan."  
  
It was clear to Chakotay that refusal wasn't an option. He swallowed his ever-present suspicions and resolved to keep a close eye on Lieutenant Tuvok. It came as no surprise that Tuvok passed covert operations training with flying colours, nor that the Vulcan made a fine addition to the task force - Chakotay had studied Tuvok's records, which were littered with commendations despite his punctuated career. What did surprise him was his own response to the Vulcan's presence. At first he watched the lieutenant warily, waiting for the slightest sign that Tuvok didn't report solely to Chakotay. As the months passed with no evidence of subterfuge, Chakotay began to relax. By the time Tuvok was ready to infiltrate the Maquis, Chakotay had almost come to rely on the Vulcan's unfailingly serene and intellectual presence. Somewhere along the way, he'd begun to turn to Tuvok for advice. The day Tuvok embarked on his mission, Chakotay realised with a start that he considered the man to be something close to a friend.  
  
Now, two months after Tuvok had reported his success in infiltrating Janeway's Maquis cell, Chakotay stood in Admiral Paris' office. Lieutenant Tuvok, it seemed, had gone missing.  
  
"Tuvok hasn't reported for almost two weeks. His cover may have been compromised, so we're sending you after him to pull him out." Paris peered at him. "You'll be commanding one of the new Intrepid-class ships. She's not as small and maneuvrable as the Liberty, but she's been built to handle the plasma storms you're bound to encounter in the Badlands."  
  
Paris handed him a PADD. "It's all in here, but the short version is, your mission is recovery first, reconnaissance second. This is Voyager's maiden journey, so don't try pushing her too hard. Although it'll be good to know if she stands up well in the Badlands. You're to head for the Terikof Belt first, and follow your noses from then on. Get your astrometrics officers working overtime - if we can map the Belt, we'll know a damn sight more about the Maquis than we do now."  
  
Chakotay took the PADD, and his gaze fell on the holocube on the admiral's desk, a montage of family photographs. One whole side of the cube was taken up by a picture of Tom Paris, the admiral's son. Who had just recently been captured by Starfleet and brought to trial for crimes he committed as a member of the Maquis.  
  
"You'll be leaving on Friday at 0900 hours," the admiral was saying. "Better get your bags packed."  
  
"Admiral," Chakotay said suddenly.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"Sir, it's occurred to me that I'd have a distinct advantage if I had a pilot who was familiar with the Badlands. Do you know anyone who might qualify?"  
  
The admiral's mouth tightened. "No."  
  
Chakotay met his eye. "What about your son?"  
  
"What about him?" Paris' tone was clipped.  
  
"I understand he was in the Maquis for a short while, and that he piloted the Liberty. I think he could provide us with valuable information, both about navigating the Badlands and about Kathryn's probable movements."  
  
"He's in prison." There was a world of savage emotion buried beneath that gruff facade.  
  
"I could request his temporary release to my custody for the duration of the mission."  
  
"He'd want to know what's in it for him."  
  
"I'd offer to put in a good word for him at his next outmate review."  
  
Paris considered it with stony face, and Chakotay began to think he'd turn him down. Then the admiral nodded once. "Do what you have to, Chakotay. Good luck."  
  
It was obviously a dismissal, and for a moment Chakotay wanted to shout at him. That's your son you're pretending you don't give a damn about, Admiral. Be sure you make peace with him before it's too late. Because I'm here to bear witness to the awfulness of losing a father with harsh words still between you.  
  
That night, for the first time in months, he received a visit from Sloan. The neat man's request came as no surprise to Chakotay. His orders from Starfleet might be to seek and retrieve Lieutenant Tuvok, but Section 31 had an additional request: bring back Janeway, and if possible, the Liberty.  
  
It was time to decide.  
  
He knew capturing Kathryn would bring her a death sentence. And he already had too much blood on his hands. He wouldn't be the one responsible for causing another death. And especially not hers. Yet his trust in her was so shaken that he couldn't quite believe she would feel the same way about him. What if his attempt to retrieve Tuvok caused a conflict between Voyager and the Liberty? Would Kathryn give the order to fire? Would he?  
  
And then there was always the possibility that he wasn't the only one on board who was working for Section 31. He knew Sloan didn't trust him. Wasn't it logical for 31 to have a backup plan - another agent, stationed on Voyager, to take action if Chakotay failed to act? Or maybe on the Liberty. Tuvok was already working for Starfleet Intelligence, and despite Chakotay's newborn trust in him, he had no proof of the lieutenant's innocence. He knew how good Section 31 was at covering its tracks, and he knew he couldn't rule out the possibility that Tuvok also worked for 31. Admiral Paris had said it himself: everybody trusts a Vulcan.  
  
Paris. Chakotay hated that the man he respected and liked was also under suspicion. And what of the junior Paris, dressed in Starfleet uniform and sitting on his bridge? As Sloan left his apartment that night he'd added his approval to Chakotay's decision to recruit Tom Paris. Did that mean Sloan had got to the younger man? Had Tom made a deal with Section 31 to ensure his release from prison?  
  
Chakotay still hadn't come to a decision when Voyager left DS9 for the Badlands. But in a twist of fate to rival all the other twists of fate he'd endured over the past eighteen months, Voyager was catapulted into the Delta quadrant, and for now, the decision was made for him.  
  
  
  
August, 2371 - today -  
  
The door chime buzzed for the third time. Unable to continue ignoring it, Kathryn Janeway slammed the palm of her hand on the entry pad.  
  
Tom Paris stood before her, blue eyes masking his nerves and a small brown- paper parcel in his hand. "What do you want?" she snarled.  
  
Her aggression rattled even his composure and he stepped backward, but rallied quickly. "Thought you might need cheering up," he said, favouring her with his trademark grin. He peered past her into her darkened quarters. "Wow, Commander, this place looks worse than my Academy dorm room."  
  
"Lieutenant -"  
  
"Whoa, don't raise your shields. I only came to bring you this. I thought it might help pass the time." He held the small package before him as though warding her off.  
  
"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
Tom was quickly regaining confidence. "Well, sir, I could tell you, but that'd spoil the surprise. It's traditional for the recipient to unwrap the gift." He paused slightly, then added, "It's also traditional for the giver to be invited in while the recipient thanks him and exclaims over his thoughtfulness. But we can skip the exclaiming part," he said hastily as her jaw tightened.  
  
She squinted at him for a moment longer, then moved with bad grace away from the door, jerking her head to tell him to enter.  
  
"Thanks." He gave her a full-wattage grin, but she'd already turned away and was on the sofa gingerly unwrapping the parcel as though it might contain something dangerous. He perched opposite her and watched as she held up a leather-bound copy of The Brothers Karamazov.  
  
"I remembered you saying once that Dostoyevsky was one of your favourite authors," he explained as she looked up at him with something approaching a smile. He waited a beat. "I thought about giving you Crime and Punishment, but I figured you'd already had enough of those."  
  
His delivery was way off. She was supposed to give him that look, the one that meant she was tickled despite herself, and didn't want him to know it. Instead he got The Look. Tom quailed.  
  
"What are you doing here, Lieutenant?" she asked sharply.  
  
"I wanted to see if you were okay," he said, rattled into truthfulness.  
  
That stopped her short. "Why?"  
  
Oh, great, Tom thought, then hard on its heels, oh, what the hell. "Because I like you."  
  
Janeway bit her tongue before another 'why?' could slip out. "I see." She placed the book on the coffee table. "Thanks," she said, gesturing at it.  
  
He was showing no signs of moving from his chair, and in fact his expressive face wore a look of expectancy. She sighed and mentally geared herself up for one of their minefield exchanges. "So, Lieutenant, have you been well?"  
  
"I guess so," he said after a short pause. "Shore leave gave me a good break." She scowled again and he mentally kicked himself. "Repairs are going well," he tried.  
  
"I'll have to take your word for it," she said tartly.  
  
This was getting them nowhere. Paris leaned forward. "So, are you?"  
  
"Am I what?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
To his surprise, she laughed, though without much humour. "I'm just fine, Lieutenant. I've been sent to my room like a misbehaving child when I should be organising shipwide repairs, but sure, I'm okay."  
  
"Do you really think that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That you should be back on duty."  
  
She looked at him sharply, but he projected only innocence and calm curiosity, so she decided to answer. "I did get us a long way closer to home," she said pointedly. "And in one piece, despite not having time to test the spatial trajector."  
  
"And despite disobeying orders by acquiring it illegally," Tom said without expression. But it was enough to rile her. She stood angrily.  
  
"Damn it, everything I've done these past few days has been for this crew! What right do any of you have to judge me for what I do, or how I do it? What difference does it make, so long as it all works out in the end?"  
  
There was something in the way he looked at her then. Something she didn't like at all. It took her a moment to realise that it was disappointment. Tom Paris was disappointed in her?  
  
He stood, facing her across the coffee table. "I know I don't have the right to judge you," he told her, sounding much more adult than she'd expected. "In any case, I don't think anyone on this ship would dare. But one person does have the right to call you on your actions. He's the captain, and you disobeyed his orders. I might have been kicked out of the fleet, but even I know it's the captain's right - more than that, his duty - to punish you for that." He shrugged. "As for the ends justifying the means, that argument might've worked in the Maquis. But things are different now." He'd started to turn away, but she saw him still, draw back his shoulders, and turn to face her again. "Permission to speak freely?"  
  
More freely than that? She almost shouted at him again, but she was intensely curious despite herself at this new side of Tom Paris. She nodded shortly.  
  
"You signed on for this," he told her. "You accepted the post of first officer on Voyager, and you agreed to follow Starfleet rules. You think you've got it tough? You have a Starfleet background; you know the ropes. If your former crew can play by the rules - if I can - then you've no excuse." He saw her eyes darkening and hastened to finish. "I guess you miss being in command. And I don't know what kind of history you have with the captain - that's obviously none of my business." For a second his voice tightened, then he rallied. "But he's the captain now. Not you. And he deserves your respect." Tom hesitated, then finished somewhat lamely, "Uh, that's all." He waited for the tirade of scorn and fury he was sure would follow.  
  
But Janeway was silent, staring at him. He risked a glance at her. There were still storm clouds banked up behind her eyes, but he could tell she'd been listening to him. He cleared his throat, and the sound seemed to startle her back into life.  
  
"Thank you for those enlightening comments, Lieutenant," she said, and though the words should have been harsh, the biting undercurrent was missing from her tone. "Dismissed."  
  
Her pensive gaze followed him until the door had closed behind him. Tom Paris leaned against the bulkhead with a sense of relief. That conversation could have gone horribly wrong. In fact it almost had, and then for some reason she'd decided to really listen to him. He thought about what he'd said, about rules and command and respect, and couldn't help a brief snort of laughter. Who'd have thought Tom Paris would ever make a speech like that? After all, he'd been on the receiving end more times than he cared to count.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
Tom started. "Oh, nothing."  
  
"You're grinning like a fool," Harry Kim pointed out, eyebrow raised. He took closer note of his surroundings. "Isn't that Commander Janeway's quarters? ... Tom, please tell me you haven't -"  
  
"Haven't what?" Paris asked defensively.  
  
"You know."  
  
Paris folded his arms. "I think I do. And no, I haven't. We haven't. Anyway," he pushed off from the wall, "where's the most upstanding ensign in Starfleet heading this evening?"  
  
"What? Oh," Kim blushed. "I was on my way to visit B'Elanna."  
  
"Harry," Tom mocked, "please tell me you haven't."  
  
Kim sent him an annoyed look and headed for the turbolift.  
  
"Give B'Elanna my regards," came a teasing voice as the turbolift doors swished closed behind him. "Deck nine," Kim ordered the lift through gritted teeth.  
  
Standing before her quarters, he smoothed his palms on his trouser legs and keyed the doorpad. The answering 'come in' was unexpectedly subdued. As was the lighting in these quarters, he discovered when he stumbled over a carelessly discarded pair of boots.  
  
"Lights to seventy percent," came a voice, and Kim blinked gratefully. B'Elanna Torres was regarding him with mild amusement. "Hi, Harry," she said.  
  
"How're you doing?" He made his way over to sit on the sofa beside her.  
  
"Oh, I'm ashamed, angry at myself, and humiliated beyond belief, but apart from that I'm just peachy." She half-smiled at him. "I should've listened to you, Starfleet. You were right."  
  
He patted her shoulder. "Well, half right. You did get us a lot closer to home, even if you did do it the Maquis way."  
  
She bowed her head. "You should've seen the captain, Harry. He was so ... disappointed in me." Torres frowned suddenly. "I felt about ten years old. Damn it, when did I start to care what he thought of me?"  
  
"Maybe about the time he trusted you enough to make you chief engineer?" Kim suggested.  
  
"Maybe." She played with the fringe on a cushion. "How are repairs coming along?"  
  
"We're on schedule."  
  
"God, two whole days." B'Elanna flung the cushion away. "Two days till I can get out there and start fixing some of the damage I did. Not to mention the damage Carey's going to do with his incompetence, and if he's assigned Mulcahey to gel pack maintenance again I'll -"  
  
"B'Elanna!" Trying to hide his grin, Harry caught her chin and turned her face toward him. "Don't worry, okay? Carey's a good engineer. He can take care of your engines for a couple of ..." he tailed off at the expression in her eyes. "What?"  
  
"Stop talking, Harry," she said softly, and he realised she was moving closer and he could feel her breath on his skin, and then she kissed him.  
  
It lasted just over two seconds, a chaste, gentle, thank-you kind of kiss, but it was a kiss all the same. Harry grinned. "Hey, B'Elanna?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?" She'd moved back a little, but his fingers still cupped her face, and her hand rested on his shoulder.  
  
"Could you do that again?"  
  
"Well," she mused, "I don't suppose I've got anything better to do for the next couple of days."  
  
=/\=  
  
He'd been aimlessly prowling the corridors for hours, trying to think, trying not to think. It was with a sense of inevitability that he found himself standing before Kathryn Janeway's quarters. He had pressed the doorpad before he was consciously aware of doing it.  
  
The doors slid open, and there she was. Skin flushed from a hot-water shower, wet ropes of hair tangling over one shoulder, hard nipples pushing impatiently against her damp cotton slip. And a mutinous scowl on that beautiful face. Chakotay swallowed hard.  
  
She blocked the doorway, hand on one hip. "Come to bust me down to ensign?"  
  
"Can I come in?" He was trying to look everywhere but below her neckline. She moved back; it wasn't an invitation, but it wasn't a refusal either. He stepped through and the doors closed behind him.  
  
She stalked over to the sofa and sat, waiting. He looked around. Her room was a mess: clothing was strewn over almost every surface, dirty plates and coffee cups littered tables and benchtops. "I see some things never change," he joked feebly.  
  
"Oh, I see. You've already grounded me, now you've come to tell me to clean up my room? Are you my captain or my mother?"  
  
"Kathryn ..." Chakotay pinched the bridge of his nose and then met her gaze. "I'm too tired and too angry to be having one of our . discussions tonight."  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"Because this incident can't interfere with our working relationship. We need to get past it. For the crew's sake."  
  
"I did it for the crew's sake," she snapped without thinking.  
  
"That's the problem," he said heatedly, forgetting his reluctance to argue. "You did it. You disobeyed orders. You went behind my back. You nearly got us all killed."  
  
"But I didn't get us all killed." She stood swiftly. "I cut a good dozen years off our journey. To me, that's worth a few days in the doghouse."  
  
"That's not the point," he retorted, moving towards her. "You know as well as I do that without a clear command structure on this ship, there will be chaos. And like it or not, all final command decisions are mine to make. Not yours."  
  
"You've made that very clear," she muttered.  
  
"Have I?" His voice rose and he stepped closer until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "I'm not so sure I have. B'Elanna Torres knows what she did was wrong. She accepted her punishment. Do you?"  
  
He could see a vein pulsing in her throat. She spoke through gritted teeth. "B'Elanna Torres sees her captain giving her a dressing-down and taking her away from her engines. She'd do anything not to let that happen again."  
  
"B'Elanna Torres is genuinely sorry, engines be damned, and you know that as well as I do, Kate!"  
  
"Fine!" she shouted, knowing he was right, and ashamed of her spiteful remark. "But I saw a chance to get closer to home, I took it, and damn it, it paid off!"  
  
There was a red blur obscuring Chakotay's vision. "Because you got lucky," he bellowed, and their furious faces were mere inches apart now. "But there are going to be other occasions when you disagree with my decisions, and the next time you decide to take matters into your own hands, you - and the rest of us - might not be so lucky." He grabbed her arms just above the elbow, holding her motionless, shouting into her face. "I will not let you do this again, Kate. You're not a fucking renegade anymore. You have a responsibility to keep this crew safe, and you have a responsibility to follow my goddamn orders!"  
  
In the quiet that followed, the only sound was their breathing, the only movement her trembling. She was staring at him, eyes wide with shock. He realised he was gripping her arms so hard his fingers hurt, and forced himself to relax them. She winced.  
  
Chakotay stepped back swiftly. "Oh God. Did I hurt you?"  
  
Kathryn rubbed dazedly at the red marks on her arms. She said nothing. The anger had drained from her eyes.  
  
He moved forward again, hands held out appeasingly. "I'm sorry, I -"  
  
"It's all right," she said softly.  
  
"Here, let me look -" He took her elbow gently in his hand. The marks were fading, but he could see she'd be bruised. "Jesus, Kate, I feel terrible."  
  
She slipped her fingers over his. "Chakotay."  
  
He looked at her.  
  
"It may surprise you to hear this, but I'm glad this happened. I'm glad you got angry, said what you said."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Her fingers curled into his.  
  
"Because you're right," she said slowly. "I've been so wrapped up in my own anger that I thought I was the only one with a right to be angry. I thought that my way was the right way - the only way. I was a Maquis captain for a year, and I got used to a certain way of doing things. Desperation can make you do things you'd never consider otherwise." She smiled a little. "And I guess I've been ... jealous ... that I'm no longer the captain. It hasn't been easy, putting on the uniform again, learning to take orders again. But I'd never really considered that it hasn't been easy for you either." Her thumb was stroking lightly against his palm now. He watched, mesmerised, as she continued speaking.  
  
"I'd forgotten what a principled man you are," she said softly. Her hand slid upward along his wrist. "I've known you for so long, and I still underestimate you. I don't know if I could do what you do. I don't know if I could command a starship alone in the Delta quadrant and still be true to my principles. I don't know if I could avoid making compromises." She had moved ever so slightly closer to him. He felt her heat. He was fully clothed, she was barely touching him, and he still felt her heat.  
  
"I admire you," she told him. "I don't know if your way is the best way, but you set standards for yourself and you stick to them. You don't compromise your ethics. I respect that." She bowed her head. He was sure she could hear the hammering of his heart.  
  
"I can't promise I'll always agree with you. But I promise I won't go behind your back again. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."  
  
For a moment, Chakotay felt her still-damp hair brush his jaw. Then she stepped back.  
  
"Friends?" she asked, delicate hand outstretched.  
  
He wanted to throw her against the bulkhead and fuck her half unconscious.  
  
"Friends," he said hoarsely, and took her hand.  
  
Somehow he found himself walking mindlessly through the corridors of Deck 3. He had no memory of leaving Janeway's quarters; his mind was too full of images.  
  
It took half an hour's pacing before he remembered her words.  
  
You don't compromise your ethics. I respect that.  
  
Chakotay knew he was scum.  
  
=/\=  
  
Before Voyager had left DS9 eight months ago, Benjamin Sisko had come good on his bet. "Chakotay, you may not have the Liberty anymore, but we sure know she's spaceworthy." Thrusting a bottle of 2251 Saurian brandy into Chakotay's arms, he added, "Voyager's a fine ship. Do me a favour, and have a glass of this in her honour."  
  
Now seemed as good a time as any. She might be in shambles, but his ship had held together through the unexpected thirteen thousand light year jump. Chakotay dug the brandy out of a closet and wrestled it open. Settling into an armchair, he kicked off his boots, propped his feet up on the coffee table, raised his glass, and took an appreciative gulp. He let himself savour the dark smoky brandy for a few moments, and then allowed his mind to resume ticking over.  
  
In a way, he was almost relieved. A major clash between Starfleet protocols and Maquis determination had been inevitable. Now at least the air had been cleared, and perhaps in the days to come, as they repaired the ship, they could breathe easy and put aside their differences. He hoped above all that Voyager's captain and first officer could lead them by example. He sighed. They had a long way to go to rebuild the trust they'd once had in each other.  
  
Kathryn had betrayed him not once now, but twice. The first time she'd done it to follow her conscience; the second time, to save his. She couldn't have known his conscience was already so heavy that the weight of one more regret might have crushed him. He deplored what she'd done, but there was some secret corner of him that was grateful.  
  
And they had cut a good few years off their journey. That was definitely something to be grateful for. Because it was going to be a very long journey, particularly for a captain who suspected that someone on his crew might be working for Section 31.  
  
What was going on, back home in the Federation? It was a question that kept Chakotay lying sleepless in the dead hours of the night. He wondered if Sloan's tales of the Dominion were true, if there had been an invasion of the Alpha quadrant, if Cardassia had honoured the peace treaty. And he wondered what secret doings Section 31 was orchestrating without official consent, all in the name of the Federation.  
  
He wondered if there were any others like him, who'd been gradually pulled into a web of secrets and lies, who'd found themselves elbow-deep in corruption, somehow doing the work of the wrong side. He'd had a lucky reprieve; he'd never been forced to complete his mission to bring Janeway back with the Liberty. What would he have done if he hadn't been so lucky? How far would he have gone? How much would he have found himself compromising his ethics to get that last vital piece of information that he could use to bring down Section 31 in the name of the Federation? Would he, in the process, have become just like Sloan?  
  
Haven't you ever made an ethically questionable decision for the good of your crew, or the good of the Federation, and had to live with the consequences?  
  
He would probably spend the rest of his life on the wrong side of the galaxy, with a crew of displaced Starfleet officers, Maquis terrorists, Delta quadrant aliens, and quite possibly a spy. A captain who would never be able to place complete trust in his crew, and perhaps in himself.  
  
Those were consequences.  
  
Chakotay poured another finger of brandy and held the glass up to the light. He thought about the ship he'd lost, and the ship which now carried him; the crewmen who'd died in their tumultuous trip to the Delta quadrant, and the rag-tag group of people who'd joined them since then. He thought about his family, his kinsmen, and Dari Ajuta, victims of corruption and paranoia. And then he thought about Kathryn Janeway, who was alive.  
  
There would always be things to be grateful for. Leaning back in his chair, Chakotay closed his eyes and smiled. 


End file.
